


And the Devil Makes Three

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Foggy Nelson, Bisexual Matt Murdock, Canon-Typical Slurs/Inflammatory Language by Stick, Flirty Daredevil, Handwavey Plot Device Magic, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Snarky Foggy, Stick is a dick, Your Worst Enemy is Yourself in Red Kevlar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: In a world where Matt Murdock didn't implode his personal life with Elektra's assistance, he continues to juggle the law firm he runs with his best friend and his crimefighting duties as Daredevil with great success.Until he gets ahold of a Hand artifact that splits his world in two -- literally.Now Matt has to track down an elusive Daredevil to fuse his two halves back into a single man. Only one problem: Daredevil has all the supersenses and he doesn't want to come quietly.





	1. Something Missing

**Author's Note:**

> I just... Love these boys so much, ok? And what's better than Matt Murdock aka Daredevil being stupid in love with Foggy Nelson? Obviously Matt Murdock fighting Daredevil over who Foggy loves best. And, I mean, also Foggy insulting Stick at every opportunity. For those of you who share my tastes, this fic has both!

Matt hated fighting the Hand. A lot. It wasn’t enough that half of them could stifle their heartbeats and the others were undead and didn’t even have any. It wasn’t enough that they were all extremely well-trained martial artists, as compared to the kinds of mafia thugs Matt usually dealt with. It wasn’t enough that their numbers seemed endless or their money never ran out or their weapons were all poisoned. No, no, of course it wasn’t.

Because on top of all that, they apparently just _had_ to have some sort of “crazy mystical bullshit” (thanks, Foggy) going on at all times.

When Matt had entered the base – generous, really, as it was more like a bolt-hole – he’d been able to determine that there was only a single enemy inside. Until suddenly there were two. And then just one again.

Something was wreaking havoc on his senses, letting the second figure waver in and out of his perception so that Matt could hardly tell if they existed at all. It was something new, something he’d never encountered before. Matt had already adapted to tracking the Hand by the sound of their breathing, their clothes, their weapons – that alone instead of body heat or heartbeat. And yet the second fighter kept eluding him. One moment there and the next gone; not hiding or dodging, but simply vanished.

Whatever power they had, it was being used to devastating effect. Thankfully, Melvin’s more recent upgrades to the Daredevil armor seemed to be holding up. The blades of the Hand fighters were skidding off the armored panels of Matt’s suit with horrible screeching noises, but not a single blow had penetrated. Nonetheless, Matt had been knocked around quite thoroughly by the time he managed to pick up on the strange pulses of energy permeating the room, and he was going to have some nasty bruises.

Finally, finally, he was able to connect three sensations – a flash of unsettling energy, a slight clink of metal, and the vanishing of the second fighter – into one phenomenon. They were all related. So, in his next pass, when the two fighters got close to one another, he didn’t aim for either one. He darted forward just as the wash of energy passed through the air and sent the metal object flying with one of his clubs. It cracked against the far wall and fell to the floor. Before the Hand warrior could dart after it, Matt was on them.

Members of the Hand never went down easy – like him, they were stubborn. But Matt prevailed in the end and was able to retrieve what he’d been searching for: a case of the armor-piercing bullets made of Chitauri metal used against Luke Cage up in Harlem. More colloquially, Judas bullets. Bad enough those were in anyone’s possession, but he didn’t even want to think about what an organization like the Hand could use them for. Matt didn’t want them anywhere near the people of Hell’s Kitchen.

He destroyed the lot, then – since his opponent was still out cold – he made his way over to the wall and the odd metal object. Crouching down, Matt traced a gloved hand over the pieces, discovering two sort of half-circle objects, each connected to a thin chain. It reminded him, he thought, of those old friendship necklaces girls used to wear in elementary school, where the two pieces came together to form one object – usually a yin-yang symbol or a heart. But it had been a single object when he hit it, Matt was sure of it. One amulet.

Had he cracked it right down the middle when he hit it into the wall?

“Huh.”

Though the amulet was split neatly in two, it still gave off a bizarre aura that made Matt’s skin prickle with goosebumps. Better safe than sorry, he decided, gathering both halves up. Whatever it was, it was better to keep anything with potential magic powers away from the Hand.

Satisfied with his work, Matt made his way home. There was no one in need of Daredevil, to his hearing, and it was so late it could nearly be considered morning. Plus, the odd energy coming off the amulet was giving Matt a bit of a migraine. From across the room it had been irritating but ultimately dismissible. Up close, it seemed to give off discordant tones that mimicked a particularly maddening case of tinnitus.

The moment Matt was inside, he tossed the amulet halves in the corner of his bedroom and dropped his Daredevil suit on top to muffle them.

Then, ears still ringing, he collapsed into bed.

* * *

When he finally woke up, the amulet’s energy seemed to have died down. Matt gave a slow, relieved sigh into his pillow, and went back to sleep. It was a Saturday, and he fully intended on sleeping in.

* * *

The next time Matt awoke, it was significantly later. And he could only find half the amulet.

He must have, he reasoned, dropped the other half somewhere on the way home.

“Shit.”

But that was nothing compared to the fact that his suit was missing. He’d left it in the corner, on top of the amulet, he was sure of that. Positive. But it was nowhere to be found. Not on the floor or tangled in his silk sheets or even stuffed away in the trunk that held his father’s boxing memorabilia.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Matt murmured to himself as he scoured the apartment from top to bottom.

It was this distraction that kept him from realizing that something else was… Wrong. Or rather, that something else wasn’t quite right.

The thing was, Matt had grown so accustomed to the space of his apartment that he hardly ever relied on his heightened senses to navigate it anymore. Which was why it took so long to realize that something was definitely off about his perception of the world around him.

It was a Saturday. Fran should have been baking bread, but Matt couldn’t smell it. The couple in 4B should have been having annoyingly vigorous sex, but Matt couldn’t hear it. It should have been simple to determine the approximate time by the heat of the sunlight coming through his windows, but Matt could barely feel it on his skin.

The only heartbeat Matt could sense was his own.

A breath shuddered out of him and he fumbled for the couch, his world thrown off-balance.

_It’s ok_ , he told himself, then repeated it out loud to confirm he could still hear that much. He tried, desperately, to control his breathing, his heart rate, but his panic continued to mount as he flexed each sense one by one and found them wanting. The whole world was cottony, a void, and though he could ground himself enough that he knew that he existed, that his apartment existed, everything outside it was beyond his reach.

Matt choked on a breath, shuddered again, wheezed as his universe shrank down to a single apartment. He sat there, trembling, and everything went hazy.

He was…

“Alone,” Matt stammered.

The image he pieced together in his mind, his world on fire, smoldered quietly and then went dark.


	2. Worry and Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy goes looking for Matt when he doesn't show up for dinner.

Foggy Nelson was a man with a plan. The plan in question _had_ been to meet Matt for pizza at six and head to Josie’s afterwards. One of the stipulations of their continued friendship and business partnership was that every so often Matt took off a night to just relax. Or to work on, you know, their real actual work that they got paid for (sometimes in pie).

The time was six fifty. Foggy had called Matt three times with no answer and so found himself huffing and puffing his way up a frankly preposterous amount of stairs to get to his best buddy’s apartment.

There were two likely explanations for the situation at hand – one, Matt didn’t show up because he was distracted by one of his not-as-many-as-previously-assumed-but-still-numerous flings, or two, Matt didn’t show up because he was literally too injured to leave his apartment. And Foggy was really, really hoping it wasn’t door number two. Between frequent armor upgrades from his mysterious tailor and Foggy’s nagging, Matt seemed to be showing up to work with fewer injuries lately, and that was a trend Foggy wanted to see continue.

“Matt? Buddy? Matt, I’m coming in, ok!” Foggy called, fumbling as he unlocked the door. “Shit—you better not be in bed with someone, dude, that’ll be so mortifying for everyone.” Under his breath, knowing Matt would be able to hear him, he added, “And if you’re dead, I’ll kill you, man, don’t do that to me.”

Foggy stepped inside to find the lights off – not unusual for Matt, since, well, obviously he didn’t need them, but uncommon if he had company over. Foggy felt a chill down his spine. A chill that said some bad shit had gone down and he was not going to like what he found.

As long as he didn’t find Matt’s corpse, however, he would deal.

Steeling himself, Foggy stepped out of the entryway and into the apartment proper. It only took a single sweep of his gaze to locate Matt. He was sitting on the couch, rigid as a board, so still Foggy wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“Shit— Matt!”

He didn’t even react. _Please don’t let it be a coma_ , Foggy prayed _. I am definitely not equipped to deal with a coma_. He was already trying to remember Claire’s number (she’d quit her job over ethical differences with the hospital management and had sworn off Matt as a matter of course for bringing a plague of ninjas upon her house but Foggy was pretty sure she’d make an exception for this) when his hands closed around Matt’s shoulders. A small part of Foggy’s brain reminded him this was probably a good way to get a broken nose. The rest of him didn’t care.

Especially when Matt shuddered under his hands and came alive.

“Matt. Hey. Buddy, it’s Foggy, ok?”

“Foggy,” Matt repeated, a little breathless, a little scared.

Matt was _never_ scared. So Foggy decided it was probably reasonable for a normal rube like himself to be pretty much shitting his pants.

“It’s ok, buddy, it’s gonna be ok, I got you, just. Just tell me what hurts, Matt—”

Matt gasped in a breath, two, clutching Foggy’s shirt.

“Foggy, I can’t, I can’t,” he stammered between noisy inhalations. “It’s gone, Foggy, it’s—My senses, they’re—I can’t hear—”

Matt scrambled closer, nearly elbowing Foggy in the chin, and pressed his ear to Foggy’s chest. Only then did the wild tension in his shoulders begin to abate.

“Matt…?”

“There it is,” Matt breathed, his voice wet with tears and warm with awe. “It’s ok, your heart is ok, Foggy… I couldn’t—I couldn’t hear it.”

Foggy’s pulse tripped, then began to race so loudly even he could almost hear it.

“But you can now…?” he checked cautiously.

Because Matt had mentioned – once, off-hand, like it didn’t matter (which was the way he always mentioned things that mattered) – that he’d gone briefly deaf, the day after Frank Castle had shot him in the freaking head.

 _Only a few hours, Fog_ , he’d said. _I came out of it quickly, hasn’t happened again_.

But Matt was, you know, a dirty liar, so. Foggy had no proof the deafness wasn’t like, becoming a chronic thing.

“Only here,” Matt murmured, as though he didn’t want to overpower the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat with his words. “Everything is. It’s muffled, and—and doused. My senses are all dulled, and I don’t… I don’t know why, or how.”

“What was Daredevil up to last night?” Foggy asked, trying to consider the problem logically. “You didn’t happen to get kicked in the head, or… Or shot up with some weird drug or something, did you?”

Matt shook his head.

“No, but I—” He paused. “There was something… Off, last night.”

“… Off?”

And so Matt regaled him with the story of the maybe-two-probably-one Hand ninjas and the weird amulet halves, and how one of them and the Daredevil suit had both vanished by morning. It was just about as zany as anything else Matt-as-Daredevil had been involved in, Foggy supposed. Either way, the freaky mystical variable in the situation was pretty obvious.

“Maybe if we find the missing half of that amulet, it’ll help,” Foggy said at last, when the tale was all told. “But since you don’t have your, you know, and I can’t see in the dark… We’ll have to start looking tomorrow.”

The lights were still off – he had been too panicked to take the time to turn them on – and the sun had already been setting when Foggy decided to check on Matt instead of waiting at the pizza parlor. The result being that the stupid billboard outside was lighting Matt’s place up like a cyberpunk hellscape.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, sounding at least a little calmer now that they had a plan of action. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

Which was about the point that Foggy’s sorely neglected stomach began to growl. Probably best to let Matt acclimatize to his newly-muffled world slowly, Foggy figured, and pulled out his phone. God even knew if Matt had eaten a single thing all day or if he’d been in that freaky trance since waking up. Yup, definitely _not_ dwelling on that. Even when Matt couldn’t hear them from the next room, panic attacks were not fun.

“So,” Foggy said instead, loudly. “Thai or Indian, buddy? I mean, we could always order pizza but it just won’t be as good as Sofia’s and she still hasn’t gotten a new delivery boy since that kid Peter flaked out on her.”

“Thai,” Matt said quietly. “Please.”

He sounded so small that Foggy’s next attempt at cheer and bravado withered on his tongue.

“Sure thing, Matt. Whatever you want. I’ll pay.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

The most worrying part was that Matt didn’t even argue about who would foot the bill. Not that his huffing and puffing about paying for himself would have come to anything, but Matt was a stubborn and independent guy and Foggy had never known him to give up without at least a cursory fight about the bill. Such a little thing, but it made Foggy’s whole chest go cold.

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and called in their order.

While they waited, he bullied Matt into a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, and a pair of those thick socks Matt liked so much. Just because he looked like an underwear model didn’t mean he needed to dress like one, after all, and his skin was running cool enough to be a little worrisome.

From then until they’d gorged themselves on takeout (Matt actually ate more than usual, mechanically, like shoveling food in his mouth was the only thing he could think to do and while Foggy appreciated not having to needle him to eat he was still decidedly Not Ok with the situation) Matt didn’t move from the couch. Foggy, in a calculated attempt at comfort, sat next to him, close enough to touch, and pointedly avoided the armchair.

But then the food was gone and the sky was dark and Foggy wasn’t sure if he was overstaying his welcome. He wanted to sleep over, just to make sure Matt wasn’t going to go comatose again or have a complete meltdown or… Something. But he knew Matt didn’t like people trying to help him without permission and he definitely didn’t like people imposing on him.

Foggy sighed, stood, and decided it was best just to ask.


	3. The First Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt doesn't want to, but he sends Foggy away anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... Such a short chapter. The plan is to split chapters up by PoV, but that kind of lends itself to uneven chapter sizes. The next chapter is Foggy again and it's like 3700 words. I'm not mean enough to leave you guys hanging with only 400 new words, so you're gonna get both chapters tonight. :)

“Do you need me to stay?” Foggy asked, and it was too much.

The offer was grating against Matt’s need for independence, yes, but more than that he just plain wanted it too much. Wanted Foggy to stay, to take care of him, to hold him. To love him. And Matt couldn’t—couldn’t handle that. The wanting that grew with proximity to Foggy.

Matt needed to be alone. To meditate, to work out what was happening to him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by his feelings, so he shook his head.

“No, I. You should… You should go home, Foggy. I’ll be fine.”

There was a quiet shift, Foggy hesitating a moment. Matt only heard it because Foggy was standing on the creaky spot on the floor, the one he usually avoided. It was soothing to be able to at least hear something in the cottony silence, but the absence of Foggy’s heartbeat, his scent, the near-silent shhh of his hair… That was still unsettling. Still painful.

“Right,” said Foggy. “Yeah. If that’s… If that’s what you want. Sure. Just, uh, just call me if you need me. Your phone’s on the table in front of you, ok, buddy? Two o’clock, about three inches in from the edge.”

Foggy hadn’t been that specific when orienting Matt since he’d found out about Daredevil. It was another blow, one more part of the entire situation that knocked Matt’s breath from his lungs. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the re-emergence of the narration or the fact that Matt needed it so badly now, that he had nothing else to rely on until he got a handle on his newly-stunted senses.

“Thanks,” Matt choked out.

Foggy stepped noisily to the apartment door and then paused.

“Can you just. Can you at least promise me,” he said, his voice cracking, “that you won’t go out in your stupid black pajamas tonight and get yourself killed? Please?”

“Even I know I can’t go out like this,” Matt admitted quietly, hunched in on himself.

“I.” Foggy sighed. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning, ok, Matt?”

“Goodnight, Foggy.”

It was abrupt. Rude. But he just. Needed to be alone.

Matt wasn’t sure if it was better or worse, only being able to hear the hurt in Foggy’s voice and not in his heartbeat or his movements.

“Night, Matt.”

The door to the apartment clicked closed.


	4. A One-Two Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy meets Daredevil, and then he meets Stick. It's a trying night for everyone.

It was probably his reluctance that led Foggy to meander his way home instead of taking the sort of brisk pace he usually favored when trying to get places after dark. And that, in turn, led to being cornered in an alley by a handful of very unfriendly-looking men with switchblades.

“Come on, guys,” Foggy pleaded, backed up against the wall with his hands up in a surrender position. “I have like… Five dollars on me. And if you want it that bad you’re welcome to it but I would _really_ prefer if we kept knives out of this.”

His wallet, he could absolutely part with, Foggy decided. Even his driver’s license, although it would be a bitch and a half to replace. But on a night when there would be no Daredevil backflipping off rooftops to save his ass, he really, _really_ did not want to get stabbed.

And then Daredevil backflipped off a rooftop to save his ass.

For about the first two minutes, Foggy was pretty sure he was hallucinating.

He knew Daredevil was Matt. He knew that. But it was just that he didn’t… Seem like Matt. The way he moved was just—Different. It was very different. Heavier. More aggressive, maybe? And much more acrobatic. But then, if Daredevil moved like Matt, Foggy probably would have figured out his identity from grainy news clips alone instead of being blindsided by his best friend bleeding out on the floor after trying to fight a ninja. Still, though. Daredevil seemed even more alien than usual as he slung muggers right and left just because he was definitely not supposed to be there.

Which was probably why it took so long for Foggy to realize that while his opponents had stopped fighting, Daredevil had not.

“Oh f— _Stop_! Stop, they’re down! They’ve had enough!”

Daredevil paused, cocked his helmeted head, and then dropped the last mugger in an unconscious heap on top of his fellows. After a brief, cheeky little act of dusting off his hands, he made his way over to Foggy with something of a swagger. It was… Altogether unlike Matt’s usual behavior when in the Daredevil costume, but it wasn’t uncharacteristic of Matt himself. The strides, quick but not as economical as Daredevil’s usually looked, were half Matt’s confident courtroom steps and half the smooth sway he moved with when slightly tipsy and flirting. The power of it was slightly offset by the bruise beginning to purple his jaw and the bloody split in his lip. But only slightly.

“You really should be more careful, Mr. Nelson,” Daredevil murmured, trailing one red-gloved hand through Foggy’s hair and tracing the other down his arm.

The obvious response was probably along the lines of ‘what the hell are you doing, we agreed you wouldn’t go out’. But then Daredevil leaned in and inhaled at the column of Foggy’s throat like some sort of really hot demented vampire, and Foggy’s entire brain shorted out.

“Matt— What—” he managed to choke out.

“I’ll keep an ear out for you,” Daredevil replied nonsensically, and rubbed a lock of Foggy’s hair between his gloved fingers. “The city’s… Too loud tonight to linger. But if you’re in trouble… This will let me know.”

The fingertips of the hand not in Foggy’s hair tapped lightly over Foggy’s heart in a fluttery rhythm that matched the pulse beneath them exactly.

“Wh-what, Ma— Dare—”

But Daredevil just pulled back and shot him a dark, bloodstained smile before vaulting onto the nearest fire escape and away.

“What the fuck,” Foggy breathed, then again, louder, as his mind rebooted enough to be angry. “What. The. Fuck.”

He turned and stormed down the alley, back the way he’d come, muttering those same three words like a mantra.

* * *

“What. The fuck, Matt?!” Foggy demanded as he slammed back into Matt’s apartment, not even sure the target of his anger was home. “What the fuck was that? You promised you wouldn’t go out and five minutes later you’re punching muggers in your freaking red leather bondage suit! Show me that split lip, you asshole!”

In the blue-pink wash of light from the billboard, Foggy could see Matt curled up on the couch in the same position Foggy had left him – as though he’d never moved. That almost made Foggy angrier. You don’t just, break a promise and sniff a guy’s jugular and then backflip home to pretend you didn’t!

“I, I don’t— Foggy, I don’t even know where my suit _is_. I, I woke up without it, remember?”

Matt shook his head, looking panicked. Panicked, but not guilty.

And when Foggy approached, the light that fell across Matt’s face revealed an unblemished visage. Foggy’s heart rate began to ratchet upwards.

“B-but,” he stammered, dropping shakily onto the couch next to Matt. “It was, I _saw_ … It was Daredevil, Matt. And not, like, some imposter in your suit, man, it was _you_. Your stupid scruffy jaw. Your Batman voice. You had a split lip! And a bruise right—”

Foggy slid a thumb across the line of Matt’s jaw, tilted his head further into the light. But there was nothing there. No blood, no bruise, no discoloration, no swelling.

“Foggy…?” Matt murmured.

“What the fuck,” said Foggy. “I saw, you were… Daredevil just saved me from muggers like five minutes ago. How is that possible?”

Matt shook his head, the movement slight enough that it didn’t dislodge Foggy’s hand. He dropped his grip anyway, embarrassed.

“I don’t—I don’t know, Foggy, but you have to believe me,” insisted Matt, all wide-eyed earnestness and a trace of desperate fear. “I swear, I didn’t move, I’ve been here the whole time since you left. Please. Fog, I didn’t—”

“No,” agreed Foggy, patting Matt’s shoulder. “I know. I believe you, buddy. You couldn’t fake that. There’s gotta be… Some other explanation.”

“Can you remember anything he said to you?” Matt asked, clutching his hands tightly in the fabric over his knees. “Anything at all.”

Foggy frowned.

“Not really. Just that he— _Matt_. He said he’d be listening for me. My heartbeat.”

Matt’s breathing stuttered.

“He could hear your heartbeat,” he said slowly. “He looked like me and sounded like me and he could hear your heartbeat.”

“Oh my god. Matt. Daredevil has your senses. You literally…” Foggy waved his arms helplessly. “Split in two! Mr. Hyde is no longer in the building!”

“That’s crazy,” Matt retorted, his voice numb and uncertain. “I mean it’s not—it’s not possible.”

And, ok, yeah, Matt kind of had a point. But also… He kind of didn’t, because crazy bullshit had been going down in New York for years. Was a weird necklace that could turn one guy into two guys really so farfetched? The Hulk already blew the Law of the Conservation of Mass out of the freaking water, right?

“It could be possible,” Foggy pointed out at last.

And though Matt shrugged and made a quiet noise of assent, he didn’t reply in words – either to agree or to argue the point. Foggy, unable to think of a new avenue of conversation, surrendered to the silence. It wasn’t as comfortable as silences between them usually were, but it wasn’t as full-on awkward as their first couple of days as roommates either, so that was something at least.

The billboard was still strobing color across the floor obnoxiously, and Foggy let himself zone out a little as he considered the conundrum of this new, second Matt.

“You gonna say hello or what, kid?” a rough old voice demanded from the shadows.

Foggy jumped, but thankfully did not yelp because that would have just been embarrassing.

“Stick,” said Matt through gritted teeth.

Stick. … Stick? Wasn’t that the name of… Foggy’s brow furrowed in thought, but then his gaze landed on an old guy who’d just freaking— _appeared_ out of the shadows on Matt’s roof access stairs. He wasn’t at all what Foggy had imagined Matt’s old mentor might look like, but despite that his appearance seemed somehow fitting. Wiry and tough and wrinkled like a raisin, with a singularly aggressive posture. Yeah. He could picture Stick smacking around a ten-year-old kid.

Foggy stood and planted himself firmly between Stick and Matt. No way in hell was he letting Deadbeat Ninja Asshole Mentor one step closer – especially not with Matt out of commission. Thankfully, Matt made no move to get up from the couch, although Foggy put that more at the feet of Matt’s disorientation than because he’d gotten a sudden influx of common sense in the last twenty-four hours. Matt was pretty much always down to fight, but like he’d told Foggy, he wasn’t really in any shape for it. _One of those ‘the spirit is strong, but the flesh is weak’ things_ , he thought wryly.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh, Matty? Hiding behind your fatass fairy boyfriend like a pussy.”

And. Look. Foggy had heard way worse things said about himself. Honest. He’d learned the secret to a thick skin and a bright quip in high school and he hadn’t looked back. But this douchebag was the guy that trained Matt when Matt was just a kid, barely into double-digits. And imagining him saying shit like that to a scrawny ten-year-old Matt? Nuh uh. No.

Foggy saw red, and it wasn’t Matt’s dorky, still-missing body armor.

“Wow, you are just—hitting all the clichés tonight, aren’t you?” he retorted with steely cheer before Matt could get a word in edgewise. “But this is a good Christian household, Methuselah, so let’s keep the slurs to a minimum, alright? Thanks.”

Not that Stick seemed at all chided or impressed by the words, but Foggy at least felt better for saying them.

“What do you want, Stick?” Matt demanded, his tone gratifyingly harsh.

Surprisingly, Stick actually deigned to answer the question instead of insulting them both more.

“Artifact,” he told them brusquely. “A necklace, amulet. The Hand stole it years ago, and I’ve been tracking it down. Almost had it, too, until a couple weeks ago. Finally caught up to my target last night, but the amulet was gone when I got there. Took me nine god damn hours of interrogation to find out _you_ were probably the one who took it from their little hideout.”

Stick sounded royally cheesed off. _Good_ , Foggy decided. _Screw him_.

“I might know what you’re talking about,” Matt said lightly.

They _definitely_ knew what he was talking about, but Foggy figured, well, Matt was the expert. If he thought giving Stick the runaround was the right choice, he probably knew best. And, you know, it was really satisfying too, so. Win-win.

“The Gemini Amulet is a self-meditation tool, dumbass,” spat Stick. “Maybe even a weapon in the wrong hands. It’s not a toy. Now hand it over.”

Only then did Foggy realize that Matt was fiddling with something tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. A glitter of gold chain caught the light past Matt’s fidgeting. Then, slowly, Matt pulled out what could only be the Gemini Amulet. The pendant on the end of the chain was a half-circle shape, with a sort of Roman numeral one etched into it. Matt rubbed the chain between his thumb and index finger one last time, then tossed it.

The throw was a little wide, but Stick shot out an arm and caught it on his cane anyway. With another flick of the wrist, the Gemini Amulet was settled firmly in his gnarled hand. But Stick’s frown only deepened as he ran his thumb over the flat edge of the half-circle pendant.

“Where’s the other half?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you lost it, Matty. One of you’s enough of a hassle – that amulet stays split, we’re gonna get another in short order.”

Matt tipped his chin up defiantly and didn’t speak, but Foggy knew he was putting the pieces together and panicking just as much as Foggy was.

And, look, Foggy was as petty as anyone, but he was also pragmatic to the point that it was probably a character flaw instead of a strength. Maybe Matt didn’t want Stick in on what was going down, but if the guy was already going after the amulet it wouldn’t take long for him to figure out what had happened. He was also the only one in the room who knew anything _about_ the stupid mystical amulet. At least if they explained things they might get some information in return.

But he wasn’t going to do anything without Matt’s go-ahead. No matter how Matt couched it, Stick was, for all intents and purposes, Matt’s abuser. Siding with Stick over Matt was untenable.

Foggy and Matt had a sort of code in court, a nonverbal way to confirm things with each other. Their code wouldn’t work nearly so well without Matt’s enhanced hearing to rely on, but Foggy could make do. He tapped out a short, stuttery rhythm on the floor with the toe of his shoe.

Matt clenched his jaw but nodded.

“I think we already have one,” Foggy admitted, then.

“How’s that?” demanded Stick.

Another glance at Matt showed Foggy that he still looked troubled. But he didn’t protest or signal Foggy to stop talking. And no matter what, they needed answers.

“I already met him, tonight. He’s got the Daredevil armor, so my guess is he’s got the rest of the amulet as well,” Foggy explained to Stick, palms itching to toss his softball from hand to hand in agitation. “Shit, Matt, what do we even do about this?”

“We’ll just have to make him give it back,” Matt said through gritted teeth.

“Dude, I don’t… He will kick your ass. Even if he didn’t somehow steal all your martial arts muscle memory, you can’t fight him when he’s got the bat ears and you don’t.”

There was a distinctly mutinous expression on Matt’s face, as though he were going to argue that he could still win even at such a disadvantage. Before he could though, Stick cut in again.

“ _That’s_ why you’re so slow on the uptake tonight. Your senses are dulled.”

He actually seemed… Surprised about it.

“Is that normal, when using the Gemini Amulet?” Foggy wanted to know.

Still tracing his thumb over the amulet, Stick shook his head.

“Hell no. Never heard of anything like that before.”

“Never?” Matt asked sharply. “I find that pretty hard to believe. If it’s that important to you I’m betting you’ve used it yourself at least once.”

Stick made his way down the stairs slowly, into the apartment proper. He didn’t, thankfully, try to get past Foggy to Matt. While it was true that there was no way he was going to be able to hold his own against the guy who trained Matt in kicking ass, Foggy had no idea what he’d try to do if Matt’s safety was potentially on the line. And with a mentor who apparently thought smacking one another around was peak male bonding if the furniture casualties from his visits were any indication… Yeah, Matt would be in serious trouble without his supersenses to help him.

“Maybe I have,” Stick said blandly. “Maybe I haven’t. But like I said, Matty, it’s never happened before. I’m guessing it generally isn’t an issue because not a lot of people delineate portions of their personality as strongly as you do. Dumbass.”

The way Matt rolled his shoulders and clenched his jaw at that still managed to be pretty scary even knowing he wasn’t in any state to fight. Not that either Matt or Stick had the ability to appreciate how absolutely freaking murderous Matt was looking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” seethed Matt.

“That regular, boring-ass Matthew Murdock persona was supposed to be a lie to keep people from knowing what you can do, but you bought into it yourself like a chump,” Stick spat. “Christ. I’ll go find the little shit myself and beat the other half out of him.”

The way he started for the door had Foggy moving so fast he almost knocked over the coffee table.

“Look here, Mr. I Ran Away Because A Ten-Year-Old Kid Dared To Have A Feeling In My Direction, you don’t get a say,” Foggy snapped. “If this other Matt has the rest of the amulet, then we’ll get it from him, you just stay out of this. Shouldn’t you be good at that by now?”

“Looks like your little guide dog has some bite after all, Matty,” mocked Stick, leaning on his cane and not even bothering to respond to Foggy directly.

Matt bristled.

“You shut the hell up.”

All that prompted was another unimpressed snort. Foggy was getting seriously sick of those.

“Fine,” said Stick. “You really wanna try to do this yourself, Matty?”

“Yes,” Matt insisted through gritted teeth. “I do. This is my city and I don’t need you running around in it causing trouble. Foggy and I can handle the problem.”

Without warning, there was a flash of gold in the darkness as Stick flicked the Gemini Amulet at them. Foggy fumbled twice but managed to snag it before it fell to the floor.

“Jesus,” Stick muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, fuck off,” Foggy said under his breath.

So he didn’t have the reflexes of a martial arts master. So what? It wasn’t like he ever really needed them in his daily life. Foggy took a deep breath and blew it out. No use getting defensive over a guy like Stick. With a tap to Matt’s shoulder to alert him, he dropped the amulet back into Matt’s hand. Like Stick, Matt ran his thumb over the flat edge of the pendant. Then he tucked the amulet back in his pocket.

“You have three days,” Stick warned them. “Then I’m going after him myself. Got that?”

“Yeah, we got it, buzz off already,” ordered Foggy, flapping his hands in agitation. “Shoo. Begone. The power of Christ compels you.”

In no hurry at all, Stick tapped his way to the door. On the one hand, he was closer to the roof access stairs he’d broken in through and Foggy wanted him gone as soon as possible. On the other hand, seeing someone with freaky superpowers leave through the front door was a little refreshing, even if Foggy did want to dump a twenty-pound cardboard box of child abuse litigation on top of him.

“You’re lucky I’m giving you idiots that long,” Stick said, then slammed the door behind him.

“I’ll be sure to send you a fruit basket!” Foggy shouted. “Dickhead.”

“You—don’t have to yell,” Matt pointed out, still a little pale and wan but with the tiniest most precious smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “His hearing is almost as sensitive as…”

The smile fell away, and Foggy’s heart sunk into his stomach.

And although he wasn’t proud of it, Foggy did have one terrible guilty moment of, _well maybe if they stay split_ … It was an instinctive reaction, born of a lot of worry and betrayal and the huge misconception that had shaped their friendship for nearly a decade.

But in the end, Foggy knew what he had to do, and that was to get things back to how they needed to be. Restoring the status quo.

Crippling the way his best friend perceived the world to try (likely in vain) to keep him safe would be a horrible, sickening thing to do. Matt would never forgive him if he did it. Hell, Foggy would never forgive himself. And…

The Daredevil running around out there getting hurt, no matter how bizarre his behavior, was a part of Matt too. Foggy didn’t want him getting hurt either.

“Hey,” he said firmly, settling back onto the couch with Matt and gripping his hand. “Three days, right? We’ll have you back to—Well, ok, probably not anyone’s definition of _normal_ , but. Back to yourself in no time. I promise.”

In response, Matt pulled his usual ‘don’t worry about me’ routine – shrug, nod, smile. It was familiar, and it was definitely _not_ reassuring. But Foggy couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would convince him everything would be fine. Matt was simultaneously the most optimistic and pessimistic man Foggy knew, and when he had determined that something was going to go a particular way there really was no arguing with him.

So Foggy just sighed and squeezed Matt’s hand.

For a few moments, everything was quiet. And then Matt seemed to muster himself and spoke.

“Foggy?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You… Can you stay? For tonight?” asked Matt, his head ducked away in what Foggy tended to guess was an attempt to hide his expression.

“Do you even need to ask?” Foggy joked, because in his experience that was the best way to deal with Matt’s vulnerabilities. “I got mugged when I tried to go home and then got insulted by Nega-Miyagi, you’d have to pry me off your couch with a crowbar. Also, I’m stealing a bowl of your fancy expensive ice cream. You might think you can hide it behind ten bags of frozen peas, but you cannot and I demand recompense.”

Matt’s face was still angled away from him, but Foggy could see a grin creeping across it again and gave himself a mental pat on the back. He also gave himself a bowl of ice cream because no, Murdock, he was not joking about that. But because Foggy was such a good friend, he scooped Matt up a bowl of ice cream too.

When they were both done eating and the dishes were in the sink, Matt made his way to bed and seemed to conk out immediately as soon as his head hit the pillow. Without a million sirens to bother him, Foggy thought, it was probably a lot easier than usual. So at least there was one good thing out of the whole debacle.

Foggy made up the couch with the spare sheets and pillow from Matt’s hall closet and watched increasingly fuzzy blue and pink light dance across the apartment floor until he dropped off into unconsciousness.


	5. Back On Schedule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy go in to work for a morning appointment; Matt has trouble focusing with his newly-altered sensory perception of the world.

It was Sunday, the following morning, and normally that would be fine. The weekend. They could take the day off and search for Daredevil, for the amulet. But they’d had to accommodate Gabriela Ruiz-Martinez, who worked two jobs and only had Sundays off – her appointment was at 10am sharp, just after her Sunday Mass. She was fighting a child neglect charge because the babysitter she’d paid to watch her two sons had taken off mid-shift with her boyfriend and left the two eight-year-olds to fend for themselves in a bodega. Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez loved her boys, took good care of them, was doing everything in her power to keep them fed and happy. The thought that she might be charged with neglect or have them taken away was untenable.

Karen had spent days between her interning shifts at The Bulletin and her journalism courses tracking down character witnesses for them and helping learn more about the babysitter. Foggy had moved heaven and earth to get the Ruiz-Martinez boys into an affordable, quality daycare program. He and Matt both had scoured every bit of relevant precedent they could.

There was no way Matt was going to miss the meeting and let their client down.

But…

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be today,” he admitted.

Reality was a foreign landscape without his senses to map it out. Being pretty sure of the world around him was a terrifying downgrade from absolute certainty, and it would absolutely affect Matt’s concentration.

“Ah yes,” Foggy mused, “because without the superpowers you’re just a _regular_ blind smoking hot genius lawyer who knows kung-fu and saved a guy’s life at the age of nine.”

“Foggy, this is serious! I don’t… I can’t… I’ve had my enhanced senses for so _long_ , it’s not like—”

But he couldn’t force out the rest. Couldn’t quite put voice to his fear, his vulnerability. The large, solid hands that cupped his shoulders, however, told him that Foggy already knew.

“Hey. Hey. Come on, Matt, I’ve got you. Just like always,” Foggy promised. “You’ve been my snarky arm candy for a decade already, what’s another day or two until we catch your other half?”

Matt fiddled with his cane hesitantly for a few seconds, considered toughing it out. He had no practice using the cane without his enhanced senses, but other people did it just fine all the time, surely he could too. Just… Everything was so much easier with Foggy, and…

Before he quite realized what he was doing, Matt had started fumbling for Foggy’s arm. A warm hand took his and guided it to that familiar place just at the crook of Foggy’s elbow.

“If you’re sure,” Matt choked out at last, a final effort to counteract his own selfishness. “I know, since my… Since that night, we haven’t much. It’s ok if you don’t want to do it, I have my cane, so…”

The silence was deafening, without Foggy’s heart to set the tone.

“Matt. Is that really what you thought?” asked Foggy, and he sounded gutted. “Of course I want to do it! I just, after you told me about all the – I’m waving my hand vaguely, by the way – the, you know, mystical ninja bat sonar stuff, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. You never like it when people coddle you, buddy, so I just assumed… Shit, I’m sorry. All this time. Jesus. I should’ve just asked what you wanted, I’m sorry, that’s on me.”

The back of Matt’s neck went hot, and though he had no idea what Foggy’s heart was doing, his own gave a besotted little thump-THUMP-thump in his chest.

“I,” he stammered. “I like it. When you guide me. It makes everything so much easier, I don’t have to concentrate so much. And when you describe everything. I, I like listening to you.”

“Well, good,” Foggy replied with a slightly forced brightness, patting Matt’s hand. “Because until you and Hellboy out there fuse back into a single superpowered disaster man, you’re going to be hearing an awful lot of my dulcet tones, buddy.”

The grin that burst onto Matt’s face then was so wide it made his cheeks hurt.

* * *

“Morning, boys!” Karen greeted brightly. “Mrs. Choi brought over a Tupperware of kimchi for you, the Riveras dropped off their last check, and Bess Mahoney called to remind you that Brett’s birthday is in a couple weeks and you’re both expected over for dinner.”

“Sounds like you’ve had an eventful morning, Karen,” Matt said with a smile. “Sorry we’re late.”

So, maybe he couldn’t pick out the floral notes in Karen’s shampoo from across the room anymore, or hear her heart tapping away a happy rhythm to match her voice, or detect her gestures by the subtle flutter of movement in the air of the office. But that was fine. (Matt tightened his grip on Foggy’s arm.) It was _fine_. He could still hear in Karen’s tone what a good mood she was in. That was enough.

“Well, you haven’t missed your appointment with Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez yet, so I guess I’ll cut you both some slack,” teased Karen.

Due to their proximity, Matt was actually able to pick up the shift in Foggy’s breathing – a deep breath, held half a second too long, Matt could feel it in the way Foggy’s chest expanded and brushed against his arm. Hesitance. He wasn’t sure if Matt needed more help, or the most discreet way of asking about it. This situation, if they were lucky, was only going to last for a couple of days at most, and even though he’d trusted her with Daredevil Matt didn’t want to tell Karen about it and worry her. As usual, Foggy had vehemently disagreed, but backed down upon Matt’s insistence.

Though there were other reasons Matt wanted to keep Foggy close, he knew the layout of the offices well enough to be confident moving around unassisted. He dropped his grip on Foggy’s arm and moved towards his own office.

“Well!” Foggy said brightly with a clap of his hands. “I guess we’d both better go prepare.”

His steps were loud as he walked to his office and closed the door, and it let Matt track his movements there even without his enhanced hearing. As usual, Foggy had adjusted almost instantly, accommodating Matt in ways he hadn’t even realized he needed. A warm feeling buzzed in Matt’s chest even as he slid a hand across the top of his desk chair, took a seat, and leaned his cane against his desk.

* * *

Matt was halfway through a statement from another parent who had used the same babysitter as Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez (though the Braille was easily legible even without his extra-sensitive touch, he kept having to reread lines because the words felt _wrong_ under his hands) when there was a knock on his office door.

“Matt,” Foggy called. “Gabriela’s here, I’m gonna take her into the conference room, ok, buddy?”

“S-sure,” Matt agreed, a little startled. “Thanks, Foggy.”

With a sigh and a shake of the head, Matt gathered up his notes and made his way into the conference room. There, too, the setup was one that never changed – Matt slid into his seat next to Foggy with no trouble, and the meeting began.

However, the whole thing was challenging. Matt had never had so much trouble focusing before. He and Foggy had gone in with a plan of action, knowing what they wanted to say, detailing the information they’d uncovered, laying out the options for their client. But Matt’s attention faded in and out like an untuned radio.

No matter how hard he tried to remind himself, he kept straining for sensory input that just… Wasn’t there.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Murdock?” Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez asked worriedly.

Matt swallowed.

“I’m. Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. It’s… I had something of a late night. But it won’t affect your case, I promise.”

“Matt’s something of a workaholic,” Foggy added smoothly. “He really wanted everything to be perfect for you. Now, if you’ll look here, we managed to get…”

And so the meeting went. Every time Matt slipped or lost focus, Foggy was there to step in. A familiar mixture of gratefulness and guilt swirled in Matt’s heart.

Finally, they were done, and shook Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez’s hand before sending her off. Though he’d barely even accomplished his actual duties for the morning, Matt was wrung out, as exhausted as if he’d spent the whole time working over the punching bag at Fogwell’s.

“Sorry, Foggy,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“What? No, hey, come on, Matt. You did fine,” protested Foggy. “It was just a couple of slips. Like you said, you’ve had your senses for like two thirds of your entire life, I’d say you’re coping pretty well, considering. I’d probably just curl up under the covers and not come out.”

Matt really, seriously doubted that. Foggy might whine and complain and drag his feet, but when the going got tough, he always buckled down and did what needed to be done.

“If you say so, Fog.”

“I do. I absolutely do.” There was a quiet sigh, barely audible. “Matt, I. You seem kind of wiped, buddy. And we don’t have any more appointments, so… Why don’t we clock out now and get started on our Devil problem instead of trying to slog through a bunch of paperwork?”

That sounded good to Matt. In fact, it sounded great. The sooner they got their hands on Daredevil, the sooner Matt’s life could go back to normal – which would make daytime work much easier, and nighttime work actually possible again.

“Yeah. I… I’d like that.”

“Great!” Foggy popped into their office’s little lobby, and Matt followed after him. “We’re gonna take the rest of the day, Karen,” Foggy called. “Ok? We’ll close out the office, I know you said you had some leads to track down on the Roxxon pollution story.”

“Thank you, Foggy. Those journalism classes Ellison has me taking are running me totally ragged, I could really use the extra time. I promise I’ll be in again on Tuesday, ok? And I can meet you both for supper Thursday night to talk about Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez’s case!”

There was a noisy, wet smack of lips on skin.

“Watch out, buddy,” Foggy said with a warm voice. “Karen just kissed my cheek and she’s coming in for yours.”

There was a gentle brush of Karen’s hand on his left shoulder to help him place her, then a quick little peck on the cheek.

“Have a good day, Karen,” Matt told her, and couldn’t help but smile.

“You too! Bye!”

Then Karen’s low heels tap-tap-tapped a staccato rhythm against the office floor. After seven steps, the door clicked shut behind her.

Matt and Foggy waited in silence a few minutes, gathering their work and closing up the office. As soon as they’d exited into the hallway and Foggy had locked the office door behind them, he spoke.

“Alright, so, my thought is: I’ll walk you home, and then I’ll go out Devil-hunting.”

Alone? Foggy was seriously suggesting leaving Matt behind like a kid and searching for Daredevil on his own? Nope. No way. Not happening.

“I… We don’t know what he’s capable of, Foggy. I’ll go with you,” Matt insisted. “We should do this together.”

There was a loud sigh. The kind, Matt remembered, that was usually accompanied by the sound of Foggy brushing a hand through his own hair. If he strained his ears, he thought, maybe he’d be able to hear it. But then Foggy was off on a tangent.

“Look, Matt, I’m kind of casting around for a delicate way to say this but… Well, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” Foggy told him, resting his hands on Matt’s shoulders. “Mixing your special and utterly _charming_ blend of narcissism and self-loathing with an external target sounds like the perfect cocktail for disaster. Or fistfights! Or both! Trust me, buddy, it’ll save us all a lot of time and furniture repair if I go find him alone.”

The thought was. Matt wouldn’t go so far as to say chilling, but it definitely wasn’t ideal.

“ _No_. If he hurts you, Foggy—”

“If he—” Foggy faltered, pulling away, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and soothing in a way that would be annoying if it came from anyone else. “Matt, he’s not going to hurt me. Come on. Even if he was just some loony bin knockoff Daredevil whose only drive was fighting crime and who had no idea who I was, which we both know he _isn’t_ , he wouldn’t have any reason to attack me.”

“I don’t trust him,” Matt stressed, gripping Foggy’s arm in their normal guiding position but perhaps a little tighter than usual.

“He’s _literally_ you, Matt. In a very real and probably genetic way. How can you not trust your own clone? It’s not like he hurt me last night.”

The argument continued, quietly, all the way back to Matt’s apartment. Foggy was not going to give any ground on the matter, Matt realized. But then, maybe arguing it out wasn’t the most efficient way to handle things. Foggy was right about one thing – the Daredevil out there was a part of Matt. That meant that maybe, just maybe, Matt would be able to find him first, even without enhanced senses, and be back before Foggy even knew he’d left.

“Just… I know you don’t like it, but. Stay here, ok?” Foggy asked. “Please. I’m seriously begging you right now.”

Matt nodded solemnly even though there was absolutely no way in hell that he was going to do that.

“Alright… If that’s really… If you’re sure,” he said.

“I am. I’ll be back before you know it, buddy – clone in tow. Promise.”

The door clicked closed behind Foggy, and Matt waited fifteen minutes before grabbing his cane and heading out himself. No time like the present to practice stretching his unenhanced senses.

And if he happened to run across Daredevil while he was out, well… That would just be happy coincidence.


	6. You Might Call Him a Slippery Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy tracks down Daredevil and they have a chat. It's not very productive, unfortunately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I have things planned out so far, the PoV will keep switching between just Foggy and non-supersenses-Matt. Since Daredevil-Matt is the one on the run, I figured it'd build suspense better to keep him out of it, but if you guys want a chapter or an interlude from Daredevil's PoV, let me know!

The first step to finding a wayward vigilante, Foggy decided, was knowing where not to waste time looking. Sure, it was physically possible Daredevil was somewhere outside Hell’s Kitchen, but _likely_? No way. He was also probably not going to be somewhere open or on the ground. And so, absently using his peripheral vision to avoid colliding with fellow pedestrians, Foggy combed the streets of Hell’s Kitchen with his eyes on the rooftops.

The first hour of that didn’t net him any results, however.

“It’s not like he ceases to exist when the sun comes up,” Foggy said to himself. “He’s got to be _somewhere_.”

And then he saw it. A flash of red on the next rooftop over. Foggy was running after it immediately. But the moment he closed in, that same figure in red darted onto the next building over and ducked beneath the short ledge there.

“Oh please,” Foggy muttered under his breath, still power-walking his way towards his target. “The suit is _bright red_ , you weirdo, I can see you sneaking around up there!”

A red-gloved hand appeared over the ledge of the rooftop and very slowly flipped him the bird. Foggy wasn’t exactly sure how a hand could appear petulant, but it sure did. Not wanting to reward Daredevil’s bad behavior, Foggy bit back the laugh building in his chest like soda fizz and shook his head.

“Very mature,” he said as flatly as possible, and walked with firm steps into the nearest alley.

“I thought so,” Daredevil agreed with a grin as he climbed down onto the fire escape.

And then he crossed his arms and rested them on the railing. Foggy was inappropriately reminded of the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet and had to take three deep breaths to stuff his overly-romanticized theatre kid fantasies back into whatever lockbox they’d escaped from.

“How long have you been watching me?” he asked instead.

“Technically speaking… I have never watched you even once in my entire life,” Daredevil pointed out. “But I’ve been keeping track of you for about twenty-four minutes now. You know, most people don’t go courting danger by seeking out vigilantes. Especially not during the day.”

“Hey, count me in for not courting danger, buddy, but we really need to talk.” At that, Daredevil cocked his head in Matt’s typical listening pose, but made no move to meet Foggy on equal footing. “Look, will you come down already?” Foggy asked, exasperated.

“Hmmmm… No.”

Daredevil balanced himself on the railing of the fire escape with one hand like a circus acrobat, toes pointed towards the sky. And then he pretty much gave Foggy a heart attack when he seemed to slip and pitched backwards. But before even a single syllable could pass Foggy’s lips, Daredevil had his knees hooked over the railing one level below and was dangling upside down with his hands interlaced casually behind his head. The grin on his face was both dazzling and insufferable.

“Gotcha,” he teased.

Foggy exhaled loudly and pressed a hand over his pounding heart. Jesus.

“You’re a _dick_ , you know that?”

“Mm. Thought you were into dicks,” Daredevil replied innocently, though his tone was contradicted by an absolutely raunchy smirk.

“You—” Foggy couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “That was _terrible_.”

“You love it,” Daredevil insisted knowingly.

And then, on his next inhale, he froze. Just went completely still. Foggy, with no way of knowing what the hell had sparked the reaction, couldn’t even bring himself to breathe. Another of those trances, like what Matt had been in the day before? Would both Matt and Daredevil’s enhanced senses eventually slip away from both of them if they continued to stay split?

His frenzied storm of worries was interrupted by a guttural snarl. All the humor had bled from Daredevil’s face, leaving the half of it Foggy could see looking dark and dangerous.

When he dropped from the fire escape again, he made several tumbles and leaps to get to the street, but not a single one was showy or lighthearted. They looked sharp, economical, made to get Daredevil onto the pavement as quickly as possible.

“What’s… Is something wrong?” Foggy asked warily.

“ _Stick_ ,” growled Daredevil, taking another deep whiff of the air. “You met _Stick_ last night.”

Foggy had forgotten how perceptive Matt’s super-nose could be. And mixing Daredevil’s temper with the vitriolic tension between Stick and Matt… Yeah, hanging around Stick would probably look pretty bad to Daredevil. And what if he thought they were working together? How would a betrayed Daredevil react? Suddenly the Daredevil armor, which Foggy had always personally thought looked a little silly in the light of day, was perfectly intimidating. Foggy stumbled a step backwards from the approaching vigilante.

“Ok, I know this might seem—”

He cut off with a yelp as Daredevil grabbed his shoulders and yanked him closer, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“Did he hurt you?”

Wait… What? Foggy’s brain, which had been making inarticulate panicked noises, blanked out completely.

“Uh…”

“Foggy, did he _hurt_ you?” Daredevil demanded.

Oh. And that was… Yeah, ok. Foggy felt like kind of an asshole for expecting Daredevil to go off on him, in hindsight. Sure, he acted a little crazy and his temper clearly had a hair-trigger with none of Matt’s usual tenuous-but-at-least-existent self-control, but…

It was still Matt, after all. Matt would never hurt him.

“No!” Foggy promised, bringing up his right arm to pat the gloved hand resting on his left shoulder. “No, he didn’t hurt me. Seriously. Like maybe my feelings a little bit, what an _asshole_ , but he didn’t even touch me, I swear. I’m ok, really.”

At those words, all the tension dropped out of Daredevil and he slumped over, pressing his helmeted head into the crook of Foggy’s neck. The hard ridges of the helmet’s nose bridge dug into Foggy’s skin, but there was no way he was going to mention it. Besides, at least he wasn’t getting inadvertently stabbed with Daredevil’s dorky horns.

“Good,” Daredevil murmured. “That. That’s good.”

“He wanted to talk about the Gemini Amulet,” Foggy explained. “That thing you found the night before last?”

For a few seconds, there was no reply, and then finally Daredevil stood up straight and pulled away, put a few steps of distance between them.

“Right, yeah, it… It splits you in two, I guess,” he said, clearing his throat. “So what?”

“So what? Uh, how about… We need to un-split you? And also, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re the only one that got the heightened senses. Matt’s been handling it like a champ, but we really need to fix this.”

“Ah, yes, my insignificant other,” mused Daredevil. “What’s he up to now?”

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” Foggy suggested. “He’s waiting back at the apartment for us.”

“Is he though?”

And suddenly Foggy wasn’t so sure. Matt had agreed to stay behind, albeit reluctantly. But even his own doppelganger found the idea of him staying put to be unrealistic. Leaving, with zero experience navigating the streets alone sans supersenses, would be a boneheaded move. But Matt was pretty prone to making those when he felt like he had something to prove, or when he was certain there was something he alone could do.

“… _Shit_.”

“That’s what I thought,” Daredevil drawled, shaking his head. “Maybe you’d be better off hunting him down rather than me, hmm, Fog? We both know I, at least, can take care of myself.”

“Ok, even if you have a point, that is _so_ not the issue here. At least give me your half of the amulet back,” said Foggy.

He held out a hand, but Daredevil just folded his own hands behind his back. _Nothing to see here_ , he seemed to be saying.

“I really don’t want to. I think I prefer how things are now. But please, feel free to…” Daredevil leaned forward, enunciating his next words very carefully. “ _Entice_ me.”

Foggy’s traitorous brain cycled through about five different inappropriate and very sexual methods of “enticement” before his common sense rebooted it.

Bad brain. Foggy was _not_ in a cheesy superhero porno, and no matter how flirty he sounded Daredevil was _not_ propositioning him. Taking a step back for some breathing room – _god_ did his brain need some _freaking oxygen_ – Foggy cleared his throat.

“Come on,” he pressed, trying hard to find the earnest confidence he spoke with in court. “We can work whatever it is out. I know you’ve got this whole, self-loathing thing going on, but Matt needs his senses back. He tried to hide it but even one meeting – the one with Gabriela we had scheduled for this morning, you remember? – totally knocked him on his ass. There’s gotta be things about this split that aren’t working well for you either.”

Daredevil shrugged.

“No, not really. Sorry, Fog.”

Well. Fine. If Daredevil wanted to be an ass about things, Foggy would have to play hardball. Because there was no way in hell he was going to let Matt keep suffering just because Daredevil got all of Matt’s Chaotic Neutral bits.

“Listen, we’ve only got three days until Stick the Dick decides to come take matters into his creepy gnarled hands, and I swear to god I’ll spend all of them chasing you down if I have to.”

“I do enjoy the thought of you chasing me,” Daredevil crooned, leaning in again conspiratorially. “But… Like I said. I don’t want to go back. And, as determined as you may be, I really don’t think you’ll be able to catch me, sweetheart.”

Foggy, floored by the endearment, choked on his breath so hard he went into a coughing fit. By the time he’d managed to collect himself, Daredevil was gone.

“ _Fuck_.”

Served him right, he supposed. Letting some wild-child, asshole part of Matt get the better of him by using his inconvenient feelings as an escape tactic was… Definitely not one of Foggy’s better moments. On the bright side, Matt didn’t know.

On the not-bright side he’d probably remember it once he and Daredevil fused back together. Maybe he’d be too ashamed of himself to mention it, though.

Wasn’t that a pleasant silver lining.

Foggy sighed loudly, scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration, and headed back towards Matt’s apartment. If he couldn’t get a bead on Daredevil again, he was at least going to make sure Matt was where he was supposed to be.


	7. Self-Loathing, Or Something Like It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Daredevil have a talk. And a fight.

It wasn’t like Matt didn’t know that on most days his chances of sneaking up on a version of himself would be slim to none. The combination of his enhanced senses and his training made it so Matt Murdock was a man nearly impossible to sneak up on, even while sleeping.

But that didn’t mean the same could be said for the Daredevil running around in Matt’s city.

Because Matt had noticed something.

When his focus strayed, scattered like dandelion fluff – which was painfully often – Matt paused. Took a break from walking and plugged a pair of earbuds into his phone to listen to an article or two about what his doppelganger had been up to the night before.

Thing was, there were parts of Matt that were achingly missing – his enhanced senses, for one – but where Daredevil diverged from himself, what parts of a whole Matt Murdock they’d each acquired, was a tricky question. The news articles were illuminating in that regard.

Five men found, piled next to five switchblades – Foggy’s muggers – and fifteen broken bones between them. An attempted arsonist beaten bloody. Each new story got more elaborate, more violent, more… Excessive. Most of those fights, with rank amateurs, unarmed or barely armed, could have been ended swiftly and without serious injury. And none were so clearly heinous as to require the extra violence on principle (the way that, say, a man might require that sort of unforgiving re-education to learn the _consequences_ of forcing himself on his daughter).

So Daredevil had the enhanced senses, and he clearly had at least some of the fighting skill of a whole Matt, but the excess spoke to— Something. Anger? A lack of self-control? A joy in violence? Matt considered those traits from the corner of a stoop. Like a kid probing their mouth for the gap left by a missing tooth, Matt searched himself for them.

There was still anger, (there was always anger), but it felt. Dulled. Like his senses. Lessened, somehow. Siphoned away by his doppelganger, he supposed – fittingly, it seemed Daredevil was probably the one with the most Murdock devil in him. And if his control over the anger was loose, maybe his control over the supersenses was loose too. Theoretically, if Matt could figure out where Daredevil might hide out during the day, he could have a chance to take the upper hand.

Fogwell’s, maybe? Or the church.

No, the gym first. So decided, Matt massaged his forehead to try in vain to quell his building migraine and set off.

* * *

In the end, his double found him first.

There was a jaunty little whistle from an alleyway, a little come-over-here noise, and then his own voice, odd and echoed back at him.

“Looking for me?”

Matt’s whole body went rigid all at once and he took three long steps, cane sweeping in front of him, into the alley.

“Daredevil,” he seethed.

“No need to get upset, Matty,” Daredevil mocked. “We’re all friends here.”

If Matt was going to be friends with anyone, it definitely wouldn’t be a version of himself with (more) anger-management issues and a penchant for armor theft.

“Are we though? Because it kind of seems like you walked off with half my life and don’t want to give it back.”

“ _Your_ life?” Daredevil scoffed, laughed, and then let out a low, sarcastic whistle. “Oh, that’s— that is just _rich_ , coming from you. You can walk around and pretend to be Matt Murdock all you want, but we both know how integral these senses are to what makes us… Us. So. If one of us is a fake around here, well… My money says it’s not me.”

“Go to hell.”

But the words hit their mark anyway. It… It was true, in a way. Matt’s whole reality was shaped by his abilities, by how he used them to perceive the world. He hadn’t felt quite himself since the split.

“Kind of a rude thing to say, after I came all this way to meet you,” Daredevil pointed out.

He could have avoided Matt with ease, basically. Which, while accurate, didn’t incline Matt to be any more obliging or polite. Mostly because Daredevil was an asshole. Maybe Foggy was on to something about externalized self-hatred.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to— whatever you want to call it. Recombine. Re-fuse? Ugh. Those both sound stupid.”

“No, not really,” said Matt’s doppelganger. “Just wanted to… Check out the competition.”

Competition. For… For what, though? It was strange, to be talking to a person who was basically himself and still not understand what he was alluding to.

“Well,” Matt said drily, “it’s been a little more difficult to protect the city since someone stole my armor.”

“Please. I already know your senses are gone, and you’re an awful liar.”

Great. One more potential advantage – that only he, Foggy, and Stick knew his heightened senses were dulled – gone. Fine. He’d push on without it.

“Then you get why we need to go back,” Matt pressed impatiently.

“It’s easier without you,” said Daredevil, breathless and arrogant. “Freer. I— I can do whatever I want, without all those little doubts and insecurities digging away at me. All that—guilt, fear. All of that weakness that’s in _you_ now. Why would I _ever_ go back?”

“You think, what you’re—you’re better than me because you don’t have a single ounce of self-control?” Matt growled, and oh, _there_ was the anger, burning hot under his skin. “Because you just do whatever you want and damn the consequences? At least I’m more than, than some force of violence. You? You’re more Stick than you are Matt Murdock.”

Then there was a gloved hand fisted in the front of Matt’s shirt, yanking him closer so he could feel the hot puff of every fuming breath Daredevil heaved.

“Take that back.”

Foggy was right, Matt realized. It was absolutely going to end in a fistfight.

Whoops.

“Why should I?” he asked with a dangerous grin.

“Because we both know what a mistake it is to cross the Devil.”

“Ooh.” He laughed. “Dramatic.”

“Careful,” said Daredevil. “I’m not above hitting a blind guy.”

Matt didn’t have the spatial perception his enhanced senses gave him, no. But he didn’t need that, not when Daredevil’s angry threats gave him a nice audible target.

He got in one good punch with his right fist, and then, when it was grabbed, managed another with his left. They felt—painful. Right. Strong.

“God I missed that,” he breathed, and went for another hit.

His whole world spun as he was forcefully redirected, and his fist connected with brick. Not hard enough to break anything, he thought, but definitely painful. There'd be swelling, definitely. His right arm, still caught in Daredevil’s grip, was twisted behind his back.

Matt snarled, struggling against the hold and trying to elbow his opponent with his left arm. But Daredevil just wrenched his right tighter and shoved him against the wall more firmly. He couldn’t smell blood – not enough of it in the air yet for his unenhanced nose – but Matt could tell from the pain that the scrape of brick against his face was going to leave scratches.

“I am not. Like. Him,” Daredevil growled.

Matt laughed, dark and sharp.

“Yeah, maybe—maybe not. That’s giving you too much agency, huh? You’re just a—tool, a feral dog. All those pieces missing, all those—Plain boring Matt Murdock parts. You don’t have a single ounce of restraint. Jesus, Foggy must have hated seeing you—what you did to those muggers last night—”

“I _protected_ him,” snarled Daredevil. “I kept him _safe_!”

But Matt knew himself well. Six words. Just six words to make all his doppelganger’s defenses crumble.

“How scared of you was he?”

And Matt couldn’t hear heartbeats anymore, except the one thundering in his own ears, but he knew without a doubt that Daredevil’s pulse was just as elevated as his own, if not more. Even through the fabric of his shirt and the thickness of gloves, he could feel Daredevil’s hands trembling.

Suddenly, Matt was released.

“You—you’re wrong,” insisted Daredevil in a shaky voice. “He’s. He _isn’t_. Foggy wouldn’t.”

But they both remembered, viscerally, the day after the fight with Nobu. The heavy, choking weight of Foggy’s fear, betrayal, disdain. Rubbing gently at his stinging cheek, Matt felt another sting – guilt, low in his gut, for using his own fears and insecurities against this other version of himself.

“Just. I have the other half of the amulet,” he said, low and as calming as he could manage after their brawl. “Right here with me. We can end this. Put it back to the way it should be.”

There was a sound of boots scraping against the concrete – retreating, a stuttering stride.

“ _No_.”

Before Matt could say anything else, there was a metallic clanging – fire escape? – and Daredevil was gone. For several long minutes, Matt stood in that alley, silent. Then, with a shake of the head, he moved towards home.

Daredevil was— vulnerable. Hurt. He’d go to ground, lick his emotional wounds.

He’d be on guard for Matt. Wouldn’t come near or let him close again.

And… Matt needed to get back to his apartment before Foggy realized he’d left.

* * *

One of the downsides of being used to little aches and pains everywhere was that Matt often forgot to clean up his smaller scrapes and wounds. Ones that, even if they didn’t hurt badly, still looked ugly. A mistake, clearly, if one was attempting to hide having been in a fight.

Matt made it back a few minutes before Foggy did, but the second he opened the door for him, Foggy crowded him back into the apartment and went for the first aid kit. They sat on the couch together, Matt with his shoulders up by his ears.

_Idiot_ , he thought. Should have remembered.

“So,” said Foggy conversationally, in the tone Matt could still recognize meant an emotional storm was brewing, “is this an ‘actually this time I really did trip taking out the trash because I’m still recalibrating’ thing or an ‘I decided to take justice into my own hands even though I’m basically fighting with a missing limb’ thing?”

“I didn’t go out to…! I just, I ran into my _other half_ ,” he explained, a bit stung at Foggy’s insinuation.

“ _Daredevil_ did this to you?” Foggy asked miserably, dabbing at the cuts on Matt’s face with peroxide and hissing in sympathy every time Matt winced.

“I gave as good as I got,” retorted Matt.

He couldn’t help the way his mouth curled up in a toothy devil’s smile at the thought of the bruises his counterpart would be sporting in return.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it, buddy. What did I tell you about going after him? I knew it would all end in tears. Or fistfights. I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

“I know, Fog. I know.”

“Oh, can you _smell_ my eyes rolling, Murdock?” Foggy demanded, tipping Matt’s jaw to get a better angle on the wound. “Am I giving off eye-roll pheromones strong enough that even the noses of mere mortals can pick them up?”

The words startled a laugh from Matt’s mouth.

“That’s not— I don’t, uh. I don’t think there’s… That’s not really what pheromones… _Do_ , Foggy,” he pointed out pedantically, feeling bubbly and pleased.

And it was. Bad, probably, but. The fact that he was the one Foggy called ‘Matt’ while his doppelganger was relegated to ‘Daredevil’ was a comfort. No matter what the other Matt said or did, Foggy was joking – like everything was business as usual, like everything would be just fine – with _him_ , not his double.

There was a part of Matt – a small, guilty part – that was considering what a life as just Matthew Murdock would mean. To never be overwhelmed by his senses again. There would be things to miss, of course. The comforting rhythm of Foggy’s heartbeat. Sounds and smells and tastes and textures he would never be able to discern again. The freedom and independence, the security he’d derived from being able to map out the world in a thorough way no one else could.

He would lose those things forever. But… With himself split, there could still be a Daredevil protecting the streets even though Matt himself could wake up pain-free from a sound sleep, not having to worry his friends with his injuries.

It was only a fantasy, though. A brief temptation. Because the Daredevil on the streets was still Matt Murdock. And no matter how much they clashed, Matt knew that his doppelganger could no more play Devil for the rest of his days than Matt could sit still and be content without the mask. They were halves of the same whole.

Matt envied his double the things he had, but he knew that, in the same way, the other Matt envied him in return. After all, only one of them got to spend their day with Foggy and Karen. With the Gemini Amulet fixed, they could have both parts of their life, as one man. So why—?

But Matt was well-versed in his own contradictions. He already knew the answer. It wasn’t just one thing, because it never was, but… There was a fear the both of them shared, a fear of what would happen once they were together again. Was there a dominant personality? Would a reunited Matt have both sets of memories or only one? The unknown was like a vice on Matt’s heart – the fear of disappearing.

Besides that, Matt knew how intoxicating being Daredevil could be. All the little careful restrictions he put on himself that fell away while under that mask. It was… Addictive, even if being Daredevil full-time would only lead to crashing and burning in the long run.

Still. No matter how understandable Daredevil’s motivations were, they had to fix things. To get back to being one, slightly more balanced man.

“Alright, buddy, knuckles next,” Foggy said softly, cutting into Matt’s thoughts.

“Mm. Ok.”

He offered up his hands and let himself sink into the feeling of being cared for.


	8. The Devil Goes to Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look at Daredevil's state after he parts with Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, you say you're probably not going to do something and then your brain just laughs at you. I couldn't help myself. Or rather, I couldn't help Daredevil demanding center stage.
> 
> Just FYI, he refers to himself as "Matt", just like the other Matt does, because I can't see him going Full Batman and referring to himself as his superhero persona, not even when he's wearing the suit. So don't let that confuse you, this is the Matt that the other characters have been calling "Daredevil".

Retreat was. He didn’t like it, but it was necessary, because as his anger mounted so did everything else. Sound, smell, touch… Until the whole city was screaming at him in every sense he had left. So Matt stumbled clumsily over the rooftops, left his double behind. Only when he was safely back within the darkened, empty walls of Fogwell’s did he let out the shudder that had been climbing up his spine for several minutes.

Everything was—abrasive. Bad. Wrong. He tugged off the gloves with trembling hands and chucked them away from himself. Ripped off his armor piece by piece, kicked away the boots.

A sharp _clink-clink-clink_ speared into his brain as the Gemini Amulet clattered across the wood floor.

“Fuck you,” he hissed at it, clutching his hands over his ears.

Deep breaths. He needed to— But the air was so. Musty, thick, choking. The reason he’d chosen Fogwell’s to hide out in in the first place was because it was familiar, because it was closed for the week and would be empty, because it felt _safe_ and _right_. But with all his senses going haywire, it was just as bad as everywhere else.

For fifteen minutes, he tried and failed to calm down, to meditate. Finally, much as he didn’t want to, he gave in to the urge to curl up in a fetal position.

“It’s not true,” he snarled to himself, face pressed to his knees, huddled in to try and keep the sounds and smells of the world out. “It _isn’t_. He’s not—”

_Afraid of me_.

But the words wouldn’t pass his lips.

_Liar_.

“No,” he insisted, pressing his hands tighter over his ears.

Foggy wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t.

Evidence. Matt just— People’s hearts could beat fast for a million different reasons, and. Foggy had been… He’d been warm, if exasperated. He’d been receptive, even, to the flirting. He had. And if Matt could prove _that_ … He could prove he didn’t need his other half back. Didn’t need worries or restraints or— If Foggy wanted him, as he was, he wouldn’t have to disappear.

He could be better than before, could finally break from the pattern that sent everyone he cared about running away from him at the earliest opportunity. Maybe the other Matt had the… The softer, sweeter parts of their personality, but he had the lying too. The fear, the parts that made him clutch too tightly or hesitate too long. The parts that kept the truth bottled away to fester instead of just—!

If he could only be sure, if he could only convince Foggy that this was better.

Then, maybe…

The idea of the other Matt – vulnerable, terrified, clutching too hard – being left alone or cast aside sent a sharp stab of guilt into his heart. (But he ignored it. Mostly.) The fear of losing out to him was— Too unthinkably painful to dwell on at all.

Within the next few shaky breaths, Matt realized that the blaring of the city had finally died down, fallen away. He sighed loudly, wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow, and flopped back on the floor spread-eagled. The texture of the floor against his bare back was noticeable, but not irritating.

A good closing statement, he thought sleepily. That was what he needed. Something structured and eloquent and…

Matt was asleep before he could finish the thought.


	9. Just a Dream?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of Matt and Foggy's allotted three is up. Foggy has a strange dream.

They didn’t really discuss it, but Foggy stayed the night again. Matt didn’t ask him to leave – he actually got the extra bedding out himself, right around the time Foggy was dithering again. Neither one of them mentioned going out to search the streets for Daredevil.

He was likely to be out – it was night after all, and Matt was nothing if not diligent in his crime-fighting tendencies – but Foggy definitely didn’t feel up to confronting him again, and if Matt went for the door Foggy wasn’t sure he could stop himself from physically blocking it. Thankfully, Matt seemed perfectly content to relax for the night and order in. Chinese food this time – and on Foggy’s dime again because it turned out in addition to taking the armor and half the Gemini Amulet, Daredevil also raided Matt’s wallet for its cash.

Foggy couldn’t really say he was sorry about that, though. It meant Daredevil was probably actually able to feed himself and keep up with all the calories he was burning punching mobsters in the face or whatever he was up to.

Either that or he was out spending it all on weed like the troublemaker he was, obviously.

Foggy snorted into his lo mein.

“What. What?” Matt asked, his mouth full of mushu pork.

He still managed to look ridiculously handsome and slightly cute even with an open mouth of half-chewed food. It was only moments like these, Foggy considered, that showed him how gone he really was for his idiot best friend. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, though.

“Just wondered what happens when you combine supersenses with weed,” he admitted, trying very poorly to hide his amusement.

“Mmh.” Matt swallowed the food in his mouth. “Uh, dunno. If we’d been two rooms closer to Stoner Larry in sophomore year maybe I could tell you.”

Then he offered up a cheeky little grin that made Foggy’s heart melt.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to have roomed that close to Stoner Larry, buddy, and it has _nothing_ to do with the weed smell. I would go back to Landman and Zack before I would willingly room that close to Stoner Larry.”

“That’s—” Matt laughed. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” realized Foggy, “with your supersenses, it must have been—”

“Don’t worry, Fog. Your snoring was loud enough to block all four of my remaining senses,” came the overly-smug reply.

Just for that, Foggy leaned over and jabbed Matt with the unused end of his chopsticks and got a satisfyingly humorous yelp and squirm in response. Normally that would never work, of course, but without his supersenses he was much easier to surprise.

“ _Foggy_ ,” Matt whined, but there was a tremble of laughter in his voice too.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take the consequences, Murdock.”

But, you know, then Matt’s unparalleled sad puppy face made an appearance and Foggy gave up an egg roll to make it go away.

* * *

“Foggy?” Matt asked, pausing halfway through the door to his bedroom with his hand on the doorframe.

Foggy stopped fluffing his pillow and glanced up.

“Yeah, what is it?”

A long, long pause followed.

“No, uh,” said Matt in his Lying Voice. “It’s nothing. Goodnight, Foggy.”

“I mean, it’s obviously _not_ nothing, but sure. Goodnight, Matt.”

Which was very passive aggressive of him, but sometimes that was really the only way to goad answers out of Matt Murdock – by being a dick. It worked, too, if the gusty, irritated sigh that spilled out of Matt’s mouth next was any indication.

“I’m just.” And oh, there was the vulnerability. “He didn’t, right? Hurt you? You said he wouldn’t but—”

Ah. Of course. Foggy shook his head and smiled a little. No matter their quirks of attitude, the two Matts really were similar.

“No, Matt. He didn’t hurt me. He was actually worried that Stick had, funny enough.”

Suddenly, Matt’s shoulders were hunched, his posture tense.

“I would _never_ let—”

“I know,” soothed Foggy. “Hey. Come on, Matt. I know you wouldn’t.”

Another pause, and then Matt nodded.

“I,” he stammered. “Yeah. Um. Night, Foggy.”

Foggy smiled.

“Night, Matt. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

Foggy woke in darkness to the sound of a footstep.

He blinked once, twice, rubbed at his eyes.

And then his heart nearly stopped as the light from the billboard illuminated a horned silhouette. The wash of purple turned the stark red and black Daredevil armor into something more muddled, wine-red.

“Matt…?”

“It’s just a dream, Fog,” Daredevil said, taking a knee next to the couch.

Right. A dream… Foggy nodded. That made a hell of a lot more sense than Matt’s runaway twin coming back to the apartment during a midnight constitutional, anyway.

Slowly, Daredevil pulled off one glove, then another, and set them on the floor, but he made no move to take off his helmet. Was that symbolic, Foggy wondered, and if it was, what did it mean? Covered eyes and warm, bared hands. It felt odd and significant, but Foggy was too tired to puzzle out why. The hands in question were covered in bruises and scrapes that Foggy could just make out in the intermittent purple light of the billboard.

“Oh, Matt…” Foggy murmured, so low that only the two of them would ever be able to hear it.

And in that slow, sleepy way of dreams, he didn’t even think before taking one of Matt’s hands in his and pressing a kiss to those battered knuckles. In the dark, in the silence, he could hear Matt swallow audibly.

“Foggy…”

“I wish you took better care of yourself, you know,” mumbled Foggy as he let his head fall back against the couch cushions.

“Yeah,” said Daredevil. “Yeah, Fog, I know.”

Then he tugged his hand from Foggy’s grip, stroked a callused thumb over Foggy’s cheekbone, and made his way past the couch towards the kitchen.

“Where…?” Foggy asked. “What…?”

There was a rustling, slight clink of glass. Foggy peered up over the back of the couch to get a look, and watched as Matt tugged down a cup.

“You’re a little dehydrated,” Daredevil said fondly from over his shoulder as he filled the glass from the sink.

After filling it – by sound? – he returned and knelt down next to Foggy again, holding out the cup. Foggy took it in clumsy, sleep-numb hands, and drank it all down under the glassy gaze of Matt’s helmet. When all the water was gone and, Foggy had to admit, his mouth felt less dry and fuzzy, Daredevil took the glass again and set it on the coffee table with a clack.

“Sleep now, Foggy,” he murmured, and pressed a light kiss to Foggy’s forehead. “Just close your eyes.”

Then he stood and headed for the roof access stairs, and seemed to vanish into the shadows there. Foggy blinked, strained his gritty eyes, but saw nothing, no one.

_That’s right, a dream_ , he thought with another slow, tired blink. _Just a dream_.

* * *

Except that when he woke up in the morning to Matt brewing coffee and pouring a bowl of boring health-brand cereal with bedhead and a very grumpy look on his face, there was still an empty glass on the coffee table.


	10. This is How We Take Care of Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy go to work, and then the second day of searching begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is maybe 60% finished and it's already 2500 words, so. Be prepared for a doozy of a chapter! Full of, you know, uh. Seduction. And confessions. And baseball metaphors that (surprisingly) aren't about sex!
> 
> By my count there should be ~5 more chapters left in this fic!

It was day two, Matt kept thinking to himself. Day two. Day two. Less than forty-eight hours left before Stick decided to butt in again and probably make everything a thousand times worse.

But there was really nothing Matt could do about it during the day.

Karen wouldn’t be back in the office until Tuesday, and in all honesty Nelson and Murdock couldn’t afford to shutter its doors on a weekday even if it might save a little on the electricity bill. On the bright side, Matt was finally starting to get a little bit of a handle on his severely dampened senses, so he could actually do his job instead of constantly fumbling and needing Foggy to pick up the slack. Although the constant mantra of _day two, day two_ certainly wasn’t helping things. In any case, there they were, himself and Foggy; both at work, both jittery with impatience.

Not that it showed in Foggy’s interactions with prospective clients at all. He was just as cheerful, welcoming, and charming as always. But Matt knew Foggy well. So even though he couldn’t hear his heart pattering anxiously in his chest or the way he readjusted his cuffs every few seconds, even though he couldn’t smell the stress on him, Matt could tell. It was in the way he set down his coffee cup a little too hard (and the quiet, almost-inaudible “shit” when a little bit presumably sloshed over). It was in the way he kept pacing the office while he worked and the way he read his paperwork aloud.

It was also the frankly unhealthy amount of coffee he attempted to consume.

In a general sense, Foggy was the caretaker in their relationship – and in pretty much every other relationship in Foggy’s life. No matter how much he tried to hide it behind his pragmatism and quick tongue, on the inside Foggy was marshmallow soft and wanted what was best for everyone. That meant he was pretty good at badgering other people (and especially Matt) into eating and sleeping and taking breaks. Matt didn’t often get a chance to return the favor, but he always took the opportunity when it presented itself.

And so, as Foggy poured himself a fifth cup of coffee, Matt eased it gently out of his hand.

“Matt—”

“I’ve been counting,” Matt told him, and couldn’t quite help reaching out for Foggy’s hand. “This is your fifth cup in three hours. You’re going to start jittering like a windup toy soon. Come on, Fog. If you’re going to drink this let’s at least get some lunch in you first.”

Gently, Foggy squeezed Matt’s fingers.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed. “You could probably use a break too, right? Sub sandwiches, you think?”

“Sure.”

They got their sandwiches delivered, and Matt actually paid because he’d gotten some money out of the ATM to replenish his empty wallet ( _thanks_ , Daredevil). Then, the two of them settled into the conference room and had lunch while comparing notes on their cases. Foggy had started drafting a potential opening statement for Mrs. Ruiz-Martinez’s trial, and Matt read over a Braille copy one-handed as he ate.

“Mmh.” Matt swallowed a bite of sandwich. “It sounds good, Foggy. Did you look at the. Um, the… For Adrian Cesare? The police reports.”

He fumbled through his own paperwork for a minute, still not setting down his sandwich (he was hungry, ok?) and couldn’t find what he was looking for. From the other side of the table came more paper shuffling.

“Yeah, the uh… Transcript of the phone messages, texts… And that note pinned to their door. Ugh,” Foggy muttered; his voice was slightly muffled, probably because he was talking with his mouth full, and Matt buried his smile at that thought in his glass. “I got the copies from Brett, I can run them through the Braille printer for you. But the note looks handwritten, so as soon as we can get the judge to order a handwriting analysis, we can finally serve that creep next door with a restraining order and let Adrian get on with their life.”

“That’s great!” enthused Matt.

He’d almost forgotten, during that disaster with Elektra and the Hand, that not everything was a world-ending battle. Sometimes it was just about making life better for one person. That could be rewarding on its own, and it was always worth it. But coming in to work every day with Foggy, fighting for the little guy, defending Hell’s Kitchen with words instead of fists…

It kept his hope alive. That someday, things would get better, for everyone. That good things could happen, that the city could be at peace.

That justice was attainable, and that he and Foggy could help people attain it together.

Maybe there were things only Daredevil could do – Matt still believed that, had to or he’d never have been able to put on the mask in the first place – but not everything was like that. Not everything had to be solved with fists and blood. Some people could be saved in the courts, could only be saved with the law, and they deserved saving too. Matt had almost lost hope in that, but as always, Foggy had hauled him up out of the mud – cleaned him off, soothed his hurts, made the world ok again.

Just that thought, warming and bright, made Matt want to lean over the table. To brush a thumb across Foggy’s lips and follow its trail with his own mouth. But, he… He couldn’t do that. Matt swallowed hard and shoved another bite of sandwich into his mouth to stifle the urge.

During Matt’s distraction, Foggy had, it seemed, had an epiphany about Mrs. Choi’s tenancy case. He explained aloud, vibrant and excited, as he scratched away on some paper or another with a pencil. Matt nodded, listened, offered suggestions – but even as he tried to project perfect attentiveness, there was a part of him just basking like a lazy cat in the warm sound of Foggy’s voice.

* * *

The rest of the work day went much faster, although Matt couldn’t stop himself from checking the time every five minutes. Finally, finally, it was time to close up shop; there were still a few things they hadn’t completely finished working on, but none so urgent that they couldn’t be put off until the next day, when Karen would be in to help them.

Surprisingly, it was Foggy’s idea to start searching for Daredevil together.

“That way I can keep an eye on you,” he insisted to Matt, but there was something odd about the way he said it that made Matt wonder.

Of course, with no enhanced hearing, he couldn’t say for certain that Foggy was lying, so he tried to ignore the feeling. The first place they went was where Foggy had apparently run into Daredevil the day before. Even though they circled that particular block several times, Foggy didn’t catch a single glimpse of Daredevil and no matter how much he strained his senses Matt couldn’t discern anything to indicate that his doppelganger was around. The two of them doubled back past the alley where Matt and Daredevil had fought, but had no luck there either.

“He’s probably avoiding us on purpose,” sighed Foggy.

Us. Matt felt his heartbeat spike briefly, ridiculously, at the word. But then a thought hit him. Us? Was Daredevil really avoiding both of them? Or just Matt?

“It’s probably me,” Matt admitted. “It’s… Some of the things we said to each other yesterday were…”

“Out of line?” suggested Foggy. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. But that’s fine, I’ll just… We’ll get you home and then I can go out looking for him on my own.”

Which was still not a plan Matt approved of, at all, but he knew it had a better chance at succeeding. If he clutched a little tighter to Foggy’s arm as they made their way back to the apartment… Well, Foggy didn’t mention it.

* * *

Matt had expected that Foggy would head out right after dropping him off, but he didn’t. Instead, Foggy made his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, rummaging around inside noisily.

“I hope your grocery delivery is coming soon, buddy, because this is just sad,” he quipped, loud enough that he must have been glancing over his shoulder towards Matt to project better.

“A couple days,” answered Matt. “But I can raid the office fridge tomorrow for something to bring home for supper.”

“Dibs on the cherry pie!”

Leaning on his kitchen counter, Matt chuckled softly.

“Pie isn’t supper, Foggy.”

“Maybe not in your world, Kale Smoothie Man,” Foggy quipped, and the fridge door closed with a click. “Some of us like to live a little. Alright, looks like we’re having omelets. You good to chop some veggies, or should I relegate you to egg-whisking?”

Holding out a hand for a knife, Matt shook his head.

“I think I can handle cutting vegetables even without the ability to hear what’s playing on TV three floors down, Fog,” he joked.

“ _Think_ , he says. Always cause for alarm.”

Nonetheless, Foggy slid a knife handle into Matt’s open hand and guided him over to the cutting board to get started. Though he was certain he could still chop vegetables – Jesus, why bother even trying if he couldn’t do that much for himself anymore – Matt was careful to keep his concentration firmly on the task at hand. The background was filled with the steady slosh of eggs being mixed and an intermittent click whenever Foggy hit the side of the bowl with the whisk.

Having finished on the green onions and halfway through slicing mushrooms, Matt paused. He didn’t like to think it, but. There was a part of him, sickly, insecure, that wondered if Foggy was only staying because he thought Matt was helpless to make supper on his own. Sure, he’d given Matt the knife, but he had stayed to help cook even though they both knew he should probably – and maybe even wanted to – be out looking for Daredevil instead.

“You can go, if you want,” Matt said, the words bursting from his mouth in a rush. “I’m. I can take care of myself, you know.”

The sound of the whisk slowed, then stopped.

“Yeah, Matt, I know you can,” Foggy answered, slow and earnest. “But come on, it’ll be a lot easier for me to get Daredevil to show up during his actual patrol time, right? And even if I can’t find him, we still have one more day after this. There’s no reason to panic yet. Plus, you know, I’m already in the middle of cooking. Kinda too late now. If I leave I’ll just be hungry.”

Matt nodded, and then the sound of Foggy mixing the eggs resumed.

“Yeah,” murmured Matt softly. “Right, that makes sense.”

With another nod of his head, Matt continued chopping up ingredients. By the time he was finished, Foggy had started melting butter in a pan, and he moved aside for Matt to dump in the vegetables after telling him which burner the pan was on. The warm curl of heat from the stovetop was oddly soothing, especially mixed with the smell of cooking food.

The two of them traded places again, Foggy taking over at the stove and Matt moving to his cupboards and pulling down dishes. He wanted to sit at the table, suddenly – not that eating on the couch wasn’t a time-honored Nelson and Murdock tradition, but… Since they were cooking, cooking together, Matt felt like that deserved something a little more special. Keeping one ear on Foggy whistling off-key at the stove, Matt set the table – all but the plates, which he’d left on the counter next to Foggy.

“Oh, fancy,” Foggy commented with a smile in his voice as he brought their filled plates over to the table. “You sure know how to treat a boy, Matthew.”

“Only the best for you, Foggy,” promised Matt in a voice that was probably too earnest.

He downed a gulp of water to cover the slip, but he didn’t think it really worked and his ears burned with heat for several minutes afterwards. Despite that, supper was pleasant. They ate slowly, and Foggy didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to leave. That, of all things, seemed to make the omelet taste better in Matt’s mouth.

But all good things, meals included, had to end at some point.

The two of them cleared the table together, but then Foggy headed for the door.

“Wish me luck,” he told Matt as he stepped into the hallway.

“Good luck.” The apartment door closed between them. “… Stay safe.”

For several minutes, overtaken by restless energy, Matt paced. But eventually he flopped onto the couch with a sigh and resigned himself to waiting.


	11. Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy goes out to catch Daredevil. No one's plan goes quite how expected. Feelings are confessed.

It was time, Foggy thought to himself determinedly, to be an idiot. Maybe Matt was right and Daredevil was only avoiding _him_. But Foggy wasn’t going to take that chance and end up fruitlessly scouring the streets all night when the previous night’s “dream” told him Daredevil was probably in the vicinity and probably paying pretty close attention. It was time to pull out the big guns – behaving like a reckless tourist. So resolved, he marched down the nearest side street.

“I swear to god I’ll walk down every dark alley in Hell’s Kitchen if I have to,” Foggy said, loudly but not enough so to disturb anybody without superhearing.

Immediately there was a scrape – the oh-so-familiar sound of boot on brick – behind him. Foggy turned to find Daredevil crouched on a rooftop two stories above.

“No need for that,” the vigilante rumbled in his (unfairly hot for how totally dorky it was in context) Batman-voice.

“Good, because I have to tell you, buddy, I was not looking forward to it,” Foggy replied conversationally, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I forgot my softball bat at home.”

With a series of too-acrobatic leaps, Daredevil made his way to the ground.

“All that for me, Mr. Nelson? I’m flattered.”

“Back to ‘Mr. Nelson’ again, huh?” Foggy asked.

The smile playing on Daredevil’s lips was quiet, easy.

“The sun is down,” he answered. “Or so I hear. This is my professional setting, after all, it’s only right to keep things formal.”

“As opposed to the informal vernacular appropriate for dreams?”

That seemed to stop Daredevil cold for a second. Then he laughed, so sweetly it could have come from one of Foggy’s rose-tinted law school memories.

“Something like that.”

As Daredevil stepped closer, into the weak yellow light from the streetlamp at the end of the alley, Foggy could make out the bruise from the muggers, the slightly redder line of scabbing on his split lip. But he could also see a few new, painful-looking discolorations scattered along the lower half of his face. Foggy hadn’t noticed them there the previous night; but then, he’d been pretty focused on Daredevil’s hands at the time.

“Nice bruises. Matt give you those?”

“We had a… Let’s call it a disagreement,” Daredevil admitted.

“Jeez. You’re the only person in the universe who could somehow lose both sides of a brawl, you know that, right?”

Below his mask, Daredevil’s mouth pulled into a sharp grin.

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘Lose’ is a relative term,” he said lightly, stalking forward with a panther-like grace that had Foggy’s heart rattling in his chest. “I wouldn’t really count myself out just yet.”

“I’m not sure what…”

But the words dried up halfway through the inquiry, because Foggy hadn’t thought to retreat and his brain really wasn’t up to the task of formulating complete sentences _and_ processing the feeling of Daredevil’s arms wrapped around him.

“ _Restraint_.” A soft, derisive snort. “He doesn’t know a damn thing. Because you’re mine, aren’t you,” the vigilante breathed against Foggy’s jaw, smoothing a hand down his spine. “Haven’t you always been mine?”

“What,” Foggy croaked, his throat suddenly bone-dry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s not play coy, Foggy,” Daredevil purred. “You’re a smart man, it doesn’t become you.”

It was… Pretty clear what he meant. Nonetheless, Foggy swallowed sharply and tried to think of a good way to deny the truth to a guy who could hear his lies. Nope, still nothing. Sidestep it was!

“L-look, that isn’t… I’m here for something else, ok?” he all but pleaded, extracting himself from Daredevil’s grip and hoping he would drop the subject.

Thankfully, Foggy was allowed to retreat without issue.

“This still, I’m guessing?” asked Daredevil, dangling his half of the amulet between them.

When Foggy grabbed for it, though, Daredevil pulled it out of reach.

“Come on, man, give that back. We need to fix this.”

“I’m not so sure there’s anything to fix,” Daredevil explained, twirling the amulet idly. “I’m better this way. More straightforward. More honest. Steadier, stronger. And now that I have my last bit of evidence, this arrangement suits me perfectly.”

“Evidence…?”

“Mm.” Daredevil wound the chain of the amulet around the clubs strapped to his leg, and then brought both hands up to cup Foggy’s face. “That pitter-patter in your chest isn’t fear, is it, Fog. It’s _attraction_.”

“I. Hm. I… Shit.” Foggy laughed weakly. “Ok, yeah, it definitely is. But—”

Before Foggy could start trying to build himself a defense on the fly, he was being kissed. Daredevil’s mouth was hot on his, insistent. And ok, he hadn’t needed empirical evidence on the subject but there it was – Foggy was weak for any possible permutation of Matt Murdock, especially one that wanted to kiss him.

He dug his fingers into the grooves of Daredevil’s armor, tugged him closer, and kissed back.

* * *

“Didn’t you already know?” Foggy wondered a few minutes later, lightheaded and a little dazzled. “That I… Hm. That I was attracted to you?”

“If I had,” promised Daredevil in a low, pleased voice, “I would’ve done this a lot sooner.”

When he leaned in again, mouth as red as his suit, Foggy met him halfway. For a long while after that, Foggy didn’t think much of anything at all aside from an alternating litany of _yes, more_ and _holy shit._

He was shaken back into himself when they both stumbled, legs shaky, and nearly fell. The whole situation was still so out of left field that Foggy couldn’t do more than huff out an airy laugh as the two of them clutched at each other and tried to regain their balance.

“Foggy,” Daredevil breathed. “Please—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you, buddy.”

Though his hands were shaking – adrenaline, dopamine, oxytocin? – Foggy stroked them up and down Daredevil’s arms in soothing motions, backing himself up against the alley wall to give both their unsteady legs some support. Then he reeled his vigilante back in.

With a fierce smile, Daredevil dove back into kissing him.

The movement was followed by a clack that caught in Foggy’s, well, _foggy_ , mind.

The Gemini Amulet.

And just like that, his BFF responsibilities came crashing back down on him. Foggy really wanted to groan in frustration, but his mouth was a little busy being thoroughly and enjoyably explored. In a fit of pique, Foggy wrapped his arms around Daredevil’s back and pulled him closer, determined to at least savor the moment for a few more seconds.

But, eventually, he really would have to go for the bling, for all their sakes.

In pursuit of that goal, he trailed a hand down, down Daredevil’s muscular, Kevlar-clad back… And, hey, he enjoyed it too because _that_ physique with _that_ skintight costume…? _Nice_. Foggy would be lying if he said he hadn’t at least considered how sexually appealing Matt was in the Daredevil suit (even with the doofy devil horns). But feeling it for himself was a whole other ball game.

_Stay on track, Foggy_ , he reminded himself sternly.

Making out with his best friend’s superhero persona was an unexpected _perk_ , not the _goal_. The real goal was looped hastily around Daredevil’s clubs and tucked into the holster on his left leg. If Foggy maybe copped a feel of that unfairly tempting ass on his way down, well—

Look, Foggy was already pinned to a grimy brick wall with Daredevil’s tongue in his mouth. The guy was hardly gonna mind if Foggy took a few liberties. In fact, it seemed like he approved, a lot, if the way he pressed closer was any indication.

But the second Foggy’s hand brushed the chain of the amulet, Daredevil tensed up and broke the kiss with a startled sound.

“Dirty pool, Mr. Nelson,” he said, licking his lips absently as he took a darting step backwards. “You’ll hurt my feelings playing around like that.”

“I could kiss them better,” Foggy offered, half-jokingly and half dead serious because _damn_.

The grin that crossed Daredevil’s face then was a perfect blend of Matt’s fond ‘oh, Foggy…’ smile (the one Foggy got for all his best-worst puns) and the shy-flirty smirk Matt always aimed at hot women of questionable character. It kind of maybe sort of made Foggy’s knees go a little weak. Well, weaker, anyway.

“Tempting,” Daredevil crooned. “But… I just don’t think I can trust you right now. Maybe later, when I’ve got this safely hidden, hmm?”

He patted his holster, and there was the faintest clink of metal as the amulet was jostled. Then he took another step back. He was going to leave. And god knew what he was going to do with the amulet if he did get away. Bury it? Toss it in the Hudson? Then Matt and Daredevil would be split forever. Matt would never get his senses back, and whatever the hell Daredevil was having problems with (because, honestly, no matter what Daredevil claimed, no part of Matt would be lucky enough to come out of magical bullshit like that unscathed) that would never be solved either.

“W-wait!” Foggy called. “Please wait. Even if you don’t want to use the amulet now, don’t get rid of it, ok? If you change your mind, then you can still—”

There was a rough bark of laughter. Daredevil’s grin was sharp and bitter in the moonlight.

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Nelson.”

And then, just like before, Daredevil was gone.

“So much for that plan,” Foggy murmured distantly, his nerves still buzzing under his skin.

He looked down at himself and hissed out a breath. Well. Since he actually had been ravished in a dirty Hell’s Kitchen alley, he supposed he should have expected to look like it. Still. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to, you know… Walking down the street looking like a hot mess who’d been ditched halfway through a back alley hookup.

But, of course, he didn’t really have much of a choice.

“If I got mugged right now, it would be really awkward for everyone involved,” Foggy announced to the world at large in a preemptive attempt to ward off irony.

That done, he started for Matt’s apartment.

Thankfully, he didn’t encounter any trouble along the way. On the other hand, it also gave him way, way too much time to think about what had just happened. Namely that at least half of his best friend and longest-running object of affection was hot for his bod.

Awesome.

But also, what the fuck. Seriously. Since when? Why? How? Was one half of Matt inherently more gay than the other or was Foggy just massively uninformed about the average gender of his best buddy’s conquests? Also why Foggy, when Matt’s taste in people ran very firmly towards athletic supermodel-y types?

Basically, as usual, what the fuck.

Not that Foggy was going to turn down any sort of advance, no matter how confused he was, because, uh? Who would? It was Matt freaking Murdock.

It took Foggy three tries, still distracted by thoughts of Daredevil’s mouth on his, to unlock the apartment door, and once he’d closed it behind him, he slid back against it and let out a loud, put-upon sigh.

“Fuh. Foggy?” Matt called. “What’s wrong?”

After another few seconds of dazedly leaning against the door, Foggy made his way into the apartment proper and saw Matt (with unfairly adorable floofy bedhead) sitting up on the couch with a worried expression on his face. A little too strung out to be delicate, Foggy just dove right into it.

“How long has your alter ego wanted to bang me like a screen door, exactly?”

Matt choked, and his face did something strange where it tried to blush and pale at the same time and just ended up somewhere vaguely blotchy.

* * *

“It’s not just,” Matt stammered later, sitting awkwardly on the couch again after several long minutes of panicked breathing and a probably-instinctive attempt to leap out the nearest window that Foggy had had to bodily prevent him from taking. “ _I_ want. Not just Daredevil, Foggy, it’s me too. I w-want… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I would _never_ , I wouldn’t ever put you in a situation where… Foggy I’m so _sorry_. If you want to leave, I-I understand—”

“What.”

It was probably a little sharp, a little abrupt, but… Foggy’s brain was doing the equivalent of a ‘does not compute’ error so it was kind of difficult to consider basic politeness.

“Foggy,” Matt pleaded in a desperate voice. “If he did something, if he hurt you—Jesus, if he _forced_ you to do something, please just tell me—”

Foggy shook his head, blinking hard. _Wait, really?_

“What? No, Matt, of course he didn’t— No! He didn’t _force_ me to, what the fuck, I mean, just,” Foggy stammered, still trying to acclimatize to the brave new world where _Matt wanted to have sex with him_. “What. I just, he _flirted_ with me and I kind of, we kissed and it was—It was great, but like, I mean, it was _you_ so obviously—No, that’s not the point. The _point_ is, what the fuck, Murdock! Since when have you _ever_ felt that way about me?”

Matt’s shrug was sheepish.

“Since senior year of undergrad…?”

Fumbling a little, Foggy managed to drop down onto the empty half of the couch before his legs went out from under him in shock.

“Matt, that was six years ago. You can’t— There is no way— _Six years_?!”

Six years. Six. Years. Matt had been open to— No, not even that, had _wanted_ to sleep with Foggy for six years. That was. How could he have possibly missed that? Sure, Matt was a master of not mentioning things, but he was also a terrible liar with an even more terrible poker face! How had it never come up!

Matt’s hand twitched towards his sunglasses on the table, a sure sign of discomfort, and Foggy’s heart sunk.

“I didn’t—” he blurted, anything to forestall Matt hiding his eyes, putting up a wall between them again. “I’ll shut up now. If you don’t want to talk about it.”

“N-no, I…” With a sigh, Matt trailed off and shook his head. “I just, is it really so surprising?”

“Uh… _Yeah_ , dude,” scoffed Foggy. “Kinda. What was I supposed to think? You could and _have_ had anyone you ever wanted.”

“Not you,” Matt said quietly, fidgeting with the loose string on his sleeve.

“Buddy, you _had_ to know. I mean I’m… I’ve always been yours for the taking. You just… Had to ask. And you never did.”

But with a sharp shake of the head, Matt denied the words.

“It’s—It wasn’t that simple, Foggy. All of my romantic relationships crashed and burned, and I… You’re my best friend, I couldn’t afford to lose you. It was better, to try and ignore it. I wanted, I did, I just…” he stammered. “I couldn’t be sure you would stay, that you. That you’d love me, even though history shows I’m, you know a… A pretty terrible boyfriend.”

It took the whole of Matt’s shattered, sad little smile for the words to click. Only when it started fading from his face did everything fall into place.

“Wait, so it’s _not_ just sex. You… You actually have _feelings_ for me,” Foggy realized, floored. “Like real, romantic, hold hands and kiss beneath fireworks, Disney princess movie happily-ever-after feelings.”

Matt chuckled and took Foggy’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together in a way that had Foggy’s heart doing embarrassing flips in his chest. Thank god Matt didn’t currently have the supersenses to hear them.

“I’m not sure how much I would get out of a fireworks display,” Matt pointed out, wearing a smile full of gentle humor.

“You insult me, sir. Is not my audio description the finest in the land?” retorted Foggy in a falsely-deep gallant voice.

Instead of answering verbally, Matt lifted their entwined hands and pressed a kiss to Foggy’s knuckles. The look on his face was… Wow. Seriously. Lovestruck was about the only word that came to mind.

“You’re really in love with me,” breathed Foggy. “Holy shit.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Matt wanted to know, sounding slightly offended.

The indignant tone drew an amused scoff from Foggy’s lips.

“I know I’m a catch and all, but come on, Matt. You’re so far out of my league we’re not even playing the same sport anymore. Like… You’re MLB and I’m T-ball.”

“I _like_ T-ball,” Matt insisted with a stubborn set to his jaw that was completely at odds with the dorky nonsense that had just come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” Foggy sighed, dragging his free hand down his face. “You are such a _dweeb_. Why did I ever think you had game?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?”

And well, he couldn’t really argue with that, could he.

“Yep. Sure did.”

Matt, apparently, was so pleased with that answer that he decided to reward it. He leaned up and pressed an innocent peck to Foggy’s lips, then pulled away with a cheeky smile. Which was nice. Really. But, well… Foggy was one for hedonism and pushing his luck, so he fisted a hand in the front of Matt’s shirt and tugged him back in for something much less PG.

Three minutes later, they were both cuddled on the couch with dopey smiles and rumpled shirts.

“Marci wasn’t lying,” Matt mused, nuzzling up beneath Foggy’s chin like a particularly affectionate cat. “You are a good kisser.”

“A pox upon you for doubting me. Also I’m shocked she kept things so clean, you have no idea how many of Marci’s acquaintances know me as ‘Marci’s ex, the sex god’ – which, I mean, I love having good Yelp reviews as much as the next guy but it’s _definitely_ weird when total strangers know more about the details of my sex life than I even remember half the time.”

There was a soft, low puff of laughter as Foggy finally ran out of steam and trailed off.

“Mm. She didn’t.”

“Uh. Who didn’t what?” Foggy asked, trying to remember what it was he had even said.

“Marci didn’t. Keep things clean,” Matt murmured into Foggy’s throat. “She was actually especially graphic after the two of you broke up about what you’d been up to, and I wanted to hit her a little.”

Ah. Well. So much for discretion. Foggy swallowed, trying to keep the heat from creeping up the back of his neck and totally failing.

“I know for a fact you didn’t hit her, though, because otherwise she would have murdered you,” he pointed out in an attempt to steer the conversation far, far away from whatever Marci might have told Matt about their sex life because otherwise he was going to spontaneously combust.

“Maybe I’ll just return the favor.”

“What?” Foggy asked. “And tell her about _our_ sex life?”

And there was a thought. Their sex life. Because that was a thing that could and probably would happen. Uh. Wow. Ok but also Marci knowing about it was…

God, she would laugh at him so much. She would laugh at both of them so much. She would think it was abso-freaking-lutely hilarious that Matt was trying to show her up and never let either of them live it down.

“Yeah, ok, please don’t do that, though,” Foggy said at last.

Matt laughed brightly.

“No promises.”

* * *

When Foggy, on autopilot, headed for the closet to get the extra bedding, Matt cleared his throat. It was the _um excuse me_ kind and not the _I have a frog in my throat_ kind, so Foggy turned back to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“You uh.” Matt shrugged a little, uncharacteristically shy. “Want to share the bed? Instead of—instead of sleeping on the couch?”

And Foggy was not the kind of guy that was going to turn down silk sheets. Or a chance to cuddle Matt Murdock, obviously, but, you know. Silk.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” teased Foggy, ruffling Matt’s hair just because he could. “But yes. I would love to share the bed with you. Your couch is nice and all but. Yeah. Bed.”

Matt beamed so brightly he outshone the stupid LED billboard blasting light through his window.

He offered a hand, and Foggy took it, laughing as Matt all but yanked him into the bedroom. Eventually, Matt had to let go so they could change into sweats and brush their teeth, but immediately afterward he was nudging Foggy into the bed like a very enthusiastic sheepdog herding a very amused sheep. Once Foggy was lying on his side, Matt clambered in behind him and slung one arm around Foggy in an awkward, uncomfortable hold. After a few seconds, Matt made a dissatisfied noise and shifted his hold. That too wasn’t good enough for him, and so followed a series of increasingly frustrated huffs.

“You know,” Foggy offered, biting back laughter, “it might work better if we switched and I—”

“ _No_ ,” came the sleepy, petulant reply.

With some wriggling and adjusting, Matt wedged one arm under Foggy’s side and the other over his waist and wrapped both snugly, though not uncomfortably, around the widest, softest part of Foggy’s belly. Next, he pressed himself right up against Foggy’s back and tangled their legs together. Finally, when all was said and done, Matt nuzzled his forehead between Foggy’s shoulder blades and let out a satisfied sigh – the warmth of which sent chills zipping up and down Foggy’s spine.

Matt was a very determined big spoon, apparently, which was way more adorable than Foggy could effectively handle.

Since the very person he was overwhelmed with wanting to cuddle into submission was currently wrapped around him like a particularly stubborn koala, Foggy had to make do with patting Matt’s hand lightly and the affectionate little squeeze it prompted in return. That wasn’t so bad, though. In fact, it was kind of perfect.

When Foggy managed to drift off to sleep, he was still smiling.


	12. A Morning For Rainbow Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy stop in for breakfast on their way to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Day Three begins, so we're closing in on the ending! Next chapter is Foggy's PoV, but let me know if you want to see a little more of Daredevil after that! Otherwise we'll end with one more chapter from Matt's PoV and then the final chapter from Foggy's.

For the first time in a long time, Matt was blissfully comfortable. Everything was warm and soft and perfect as he drifted on the edge of consciousness – awake enough to appreciate his comfort but not enough to give up the restfulness it provided.

And then there was a jostle and a low hiss.

“Oh— _fuck_!”

“Hmm?” Matt mumbled into Foggy’s shoulder, lightly kneading the soft belly under his fingers in a sleepy attempt at reassurance.

“The Disney princess movie feelings!” replied Foggy. “Fuck!”

“Foggy, what are you…?” Matt yawned.

With a sigh, he reached an arm back to fumble for the alarm clock.

“Six fourteen am,” it said.

Matt groaned.

“Go back to sleep, Fog, we don’t have to be in until nine.”

“I can’t, Matt!” protested Foggy, and his pitch ticked upward enough in panic that it startled Matt fully awake.

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Foggy said, rolling over and pressing his forehead into Matt’s collarbone, “is I didn’t know about the gooshy romantic feelings! Oh my god, Matt, I was a huge dick to Daredevil last night! I thought he just – you just – oh, whatever! I thought it was just a sex thing! I tried to steal back the amulet while we were making out, what if he thinks I was just using him?”

Oh.

Matt’s heart dropped into his stomach, and the worst part was that he wasn’t sure exactly why. Whether it was because Foggy was so concerned about the other Matt even while tangled up in bed with him, or whether it was a sympathetic reaction to the thought of what his double must have been feeling when Foggy went for the amulet. Matt groaned again and flopped over so he was flat on his back.

“Take the morning off,” he said at last, as much as he didn’t want to. “Karen and I can handle things at the office, and you can clear things up with him.”

“How will I even find him?” Foggy asked hopelessly.

The tone sent a pang right through Matt’s heart. He sounded so miserable. And even if it would end up serving Daredevil’s interests – and how insane was it to be in a situation where you could be functionally jealous of yourself? – Matt would do anything to make that hurt go away.

“Let him find you. He’s probably been following you everywhere the last two days anyway,” admitted Matt soothingly. “That’s what I’d do if I were him. Which, you know, I— I kind of am? So.”

“… You would?”

Only then did Matt’s sleep-addled brain remember that admitting to borderline stalker-like tendencies was probably closer to the creepy end of the scale than not.

“Um,” he answered eloquently.

Foggy gave a quiet huff of laughter against Matt’s throat that he could feel through his whole body, then reached down to pat Matt’s hip.

“You are such a weirdo. But I guess that’s kind of sweet, in its own way.”

Overwhelmed by a sudden wash of relief, Matt just had to kiss him.

* * *

Calmed and comforted, sleepiness overtook them again and they dozed until Matt’s alarm went off. And then, though a lot of him wanted to just stay in bed all day, wrapped around Foggy, he knew they had to get up. To get ready for the day, to go to work… And, for Foggy, to seek out Daredevil.

The two of them moved around the apartment in shifts – taking turns showering and dressing, packing up the paperwork that needed to go back to the office. When Matt’s stomach rumbled with hunger, he and Foggy both gathered in the kitchen to try and find something to scrounge together.

“Fridge is empty,” Foggy pointed out.

“Well, then maybe…”

Matt had already figured there wasn’t much left in the fridge, but when what little cereal was left in his cupboard turned out to be stale, their options for eating in were pretty well down to zero.

“Looks like we’re going out for breakfast,” Foggy concluded.

It would have to be something fast – picking up a breakfast sandwich, maybe some coffee. So they both tugged on their shoes and headed out of the apartment.

“We can get something from the bodega on the way,” Matt suggested as they started down the sidewalk.

But Foggy groaned dramatically at that suggestion.

“I am craving fancy pastries like my mother craved pistachio ice cream when she was pregnant with Candace, Matt,” he wheedled. “Don’t deny me my craving!”

As if Matt could ever deny Foggy anything. He exhaled – half sigh, half laugh, and agreed.

“Fine. We’ll swing by Anika’s place on the way.”

“Yes!” Foggy cheered. “I just pumped my fist enthusiastically. I love the Gaykery!”

“Will you stop calling it the Gaykery?” laughed Matt, squeezing Foggy’s arm. “Rainbow Sugar Café is a perfectly nice name.”

“Anika _loves_ when I call it the Gaykery,” Foggy argued with a grin in his voice. “I wonder if she and Dominique will give us a discount? Because let me tell you, Matt, I would PDA in front of God and Republicans for one of those swirly rainbow cinnamon rolls.”

“Yes, because normally you’re so shy and retiring,” joked Matt.

In what was an extremely counterproductive attempt at revenge on Foggy’s part, he gave Matt an obnoxiously noisy kiss on the cheek.

Matt remembered, vaguely, distantly, the way Christmas trees looked when twinkling with lights. The glittery, flashing feeling that zipped through him reminded him of that.

“Oh—Look out, buddy, sidewalk sludge at your twelve in about five steps.” Matt dodged it nimbly with Foggy’s assistance. “Ugh, man, I can’t even tell what it used to be and I really don’t want to know.”

“Lucky I can’t smell it, I suppose,” Matt offered with a grin.

“Yeah, no kidding. Alright, let’s stop here, we gotta wait for traffic anyway and there’s a whole herd of businessmen in front of us that I don’t want to be trampled by when we get the walk light. Their shoes are very shiny and they look vicious.”

And so it went, Foggy chattering away as usual and giving quick asides to help Matt navigate until they reached the doors of the café. A bell jingled merrily as they entered.

“There’s a couple college kids with laptops in the corner,” narrated Foggy quietly. “And a lady probably in her forties reading some Irena Klepfisz near the windows.”

Matt could feel him take a breath, about to continue, but then he was interrupted by a voice from the counter.

“Foggy, Matt! What brings you boys in here today?” Dominique asked.

“Foggy desperately needed one of your cinnamon rolls,” explained Matt. “So desperately, in fact, that he is willing to debase the sanctity of our newly established relationship by offering to make out with me for a discount—”

“ _Matt_!” Foggy practically squeaked, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Matt did not consider himself too mature to lick that hand – especially since he couldn’t currently taste everything it had touched in the last forty-eight hours. Dominique’s laugh was loud enough to overpower Foggy's indignant muttering about childishness and to bring Anika’s attention out to the front of the counter.

“What’s all this about, Domi?” she asked, and following in her wake was a strong scent of baking pastries that could only mean she’d just pulled a tray out of the oven.

Foggy, angel that he was, paused in his complaining to tell Matt it was a tray of bear claws.

“Well, first off, babe, you owe me ten bucks because our lawyers are dating now,” teased Dominique. “And second, they’re willing to prove it for a discount on their order.”

Anika’s laugh was almost as loud as Dominique’s, and featured a couple of goofy little snorts that made Matt smile.

* * *

In the end, they did exchange a quick kiss, though Anika and Dominique were apparently so pleased that the two of them had gotten together (Finally? Why “finally”?) that Anika told them their order would have been on the house anyway.

“What do you want, Matt?” Foggy asked, when the teasing was finished.

“Just— a muffin,” he answered. “Blueberry muffin.”

There were a couple of clicks of metal – tongs – and a rustle as the food was slid into a bag.

“Here you go!” Dominique said, handing off their order to Foggy with a crinkle of paper. “One cinnamon roll and one blueberry muffin. So, tell me, because I have been wondering for ages, are you going to keep your names or hyphenate when you get married?”

Matt’s whole brain blanked out at the word ‘married’, caught up in phantom sensations of feeling the skin-warm metal of a ring on Foggy’s finger, the smell of ink as they signed their names on a marriage license, and – most tellingly – the sound of Foggy cooing as he jounced a giggling baby in his arms. He felt warm and strange all over.

“—too poor to change the sign,” he heard Foggy joking as his hearing zoned back in again. “Besides, can you even imagine? Matt’s name is enough of a mouthful as is.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed weakly, still a bit shaky.

He collected himself as best he could, smiled, tightened his grip on Foggy’s arm to ground himself. Finally, they said their goodbyes to Dominique and Anika, then headed back out onto the street.

Foggy was digging into the bag immediately to get his hands on the cinnamon roll. Then he handed it off to Matt to let him get at his muffin. They ate as they walked, Foggy’s guiding muffled slightly by mouthfuls of pastry.

He led Matt all the way up to the door of their offices, and then lingered there.

“I… I should go, I guess,” Foggy said hesitantly. “Good luck, ok? And if… You know, call me, if you need help. If you start to… If your senses…”

Though he couldn’t quite seem to say the words, his tone was so earnest and concerned that Matt’s heart broke a little. He pressed a kiss to Foggy’s mouth and caught the sweetness of cinnamon sugar on his lips.

“I will. Be safe, Foggy.”

There was a warm hand on the side of his face, a soft thumb stroking his cheekbone.

“For you? Always,” Foggy promised, and kissed him in return.

Then, with a familiar squeeze of his shoulder, Foggy left. Matt waited in the hall, listening to Foggy’s footsteps until they faded, so much sooner than they should have. Soon, Matt told himself. Soon he’d be able to follow the click of Foggy’s dress shoes for blocks. Be able to hear Foggy’s heart flutter at a kiss instead of having to press a hand to his chest and feel it.

Soon.

But for the moment, there was work to do. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Matt turned the doorknob and entered the offices.

“Matt!” Karen greeted cheerfully. “Good morning!”

As usual, it was difficult not to smile when Karen was in a good mood. She’d been off-balance and hurting for so long after Fisk that Matt wasn’t sure she would ever really recover, but every day seemed to bring her more confidence, surety, purpose.

“Good morning to you too, Karen,” he greeted. “Foggy won’t be in this morning, I’m afraid, he had something personal he needed to handle.”

“Then I guess Murdock and Page will have to hold down the fort.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Matt. “Let’s do our best.”

And so they settled in to work. Matt left his office door open, and even though he didn’t have the familiar drum of Karen’s heartbeat to help center him, he could still hear her shuffling papers and answering phone calls. It was enough to keep him mostly on track, at least, even if it wasn’t enough to keep him from worrying about Foggy.


	13. Siren Song in a Stormy Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daredevil hears a voice calling for him and decides whether to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said it was gonna be Foggy and then Daredevil, but... Uh... It just worked better this way. So we'll get Foggy's PoV next chapter.

“Daredevil?”

Matt’s hands clenched into fists. He took hard, steadying breaths – in, out, in, out. It didn’t help, though. Didn’t stop him from being torn. The voice was two blocks away and getting closer and all of his senses were going haywire. Everything was uncertain except that voice. The whole world except Foggy skittered, stumbled drunkenly.

“Ugh, come on… I really hope Matt’s not wrong because talking to myself is not the kind of image I like to project to the public. Daredevil?”

As much as he’d tried to tough it out, the truth was that he hadn’t been able to stabilize his senses at all since leaving Foggy the previous night. He’d had to give up on finishing his patrol as Daredevil completely.

Matt had… He’d had a plan that night. Really. But he’d gotten so caught up in the alluring beat of Foggy’s heart. All the little sensory pieces of the puzzle that added up to something miraculous.

Attraction.

Foggy wanted him. And that overpowered everything else, even the smell of home-cooked omelet on Foggy’s breath that meant he’d eaten supper together with the other Matt. It didn’t… None of that mattered. No. Foggy had come looking for _him_. Alone. That was a choice, wasn’t it?

And it had been, well…

Even just the memory of Foggy’s mouth under his sent a pleasant shiver down Matt’s spine.

But then of course, it had all gone wrong. The amulet. Matt had nearly forgotten it, nearly ignored the quiet clack of the chain shifting minutely beneath Foggy’s fingers. What did it matter, what did any of it matter in light of—

But it did matter. Because Matt didn’t want to go back, he’d said he didn’t want to, he’d— He’d said so. And for a moment, he’d thought that maybe Foggy understood that, that he’d chosen, that he was ok with it. To know he was wrong was wrenching. It had grabbed hold of Matt’s self-control and twisted, knocked all of his senses back out of alignment, and he had to just— get away.

And what if it… No, the attraction wasn’t a lie. Couldn’t possibly be a lie. But grabbing the Gemini Amulet, that laid Foggy’s priorities pretty bare. He wanted to help the _other_ Matt, wanted to get him his senses back. He didn’t care about—

_No_. Not that. Matt could never say Foggy didn’t _care_ , because Foggy always cared. Always, even when he complained about it or pretended like he didn’t. But still. He’d tried to take the amulet. Wanted to fuse Matt back together with his other half.

Maybe it… Maybe it was Matt’s own fault. He had gone in with an argument, a plan, and he’d tossed it aside like an idiot the second Foggy had kissed him back. Hadn’t taken the time to really convince him.

“I know you probably don’t want to but please, buddy, just hear me out.”

_Oh_. And even with his world on fire shifting under him like a ship in a storm, Matt could pick out desperation in Foggy’s voice. Regret.

He would… He’d… He’d have to keep his distance, much as it pained him. Because he couldn’t trust that Foggy wouldn’t try to steal the amulet again. But listening to that voice plead with him and ignoring it…?

Impossible.

Matt slipped on his helmet and braved his way through a hurricane of sensory information to the voice and the heartbeat that were calling him.


	14. Use Caution So As Not To Spook Stray Vigilantes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy manages to speak to Daredevil again and make an apology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 2-3 chapters left, by my latest count. We're closing in on the ending of the story! Whew!

“You called?” a low voice asked from above, and Foggy craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his wayward vigilante.

Then with three quick leaps, Daredevil was standing at the other end of the alley. The more shadowy end, of course, the theatrical bastard. He couldn’t even _see_ the dramatic lighting, but he’d zeroed in on it instantly. Another Murdock mystery, just like his hottie radar.

“Oh thank god,” Foggy breathed. “I was really worried I was just gonna stand here all morning talking to dumpsters like a lunatic. I know Matt said you’d be around, but I mean, my luck isn’t always that good.”

There was almost a smile at that, almost. But not quite, which meant Foggy wasn’t about to pat himself on the back anytime soon.

“You smell like him,” Daredevil blurted, and the expression on his face was a little too stern to be a pout but a little too petulant to be anything else.

And with a set-up like that, who could resist?

“There might have been some bedtime spooning. Which I will happily offer as an enticement to put the amulet back together if that sweetens the pot for you at all,” said Foggy, rocking on his heels. “More importantly, doesn’t that just mean I smell like you?”

“Uh.”

Daredevil fumbled, paused, visibly collected himself. It was so very _Matt_ that Foggy’s heart gave a lovelorn little ba-BUMP in his chest even though he was in the presence of the one person on earth who could hear it.

“So, um,” Foggy managed with a passing attempt to be casual.

It… Really didn’t do much for the tension. Despite his slip in composure, Daredevil was quick to put on a – well, ok, he was already in a mask, but. You know, put on an emotional mask to complement the physical one with the horns.

“I was under the impression you had something to say to me?” Daredevil asked with a sneer.

The tone was taunting, dark, like he was trying to be sinister. In all honesty, he just came across as an asshole. Still, turnabout was fair play, after all. Foggy sighed.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Daredevil’s expression didn’t so much as flicker.

“Which part?”

“You know which part,” said Foggy, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Or I hope you do. I… I shouldn’t have tried to take the amulet from you like that. I’m not sorry about the reasons I did it, because those still stand – you can’t keep going like this, split in two. But I realize I fucked up, and it probably feels like I exploited your feelings for me.”

The look that crossed Daredevil’s face – or, rather, his mouth, because that was about all anyone could see with that helmet in the way – was startled. He wet his lips and tilted his head a little, the way Matt did when confronted with something that didn’t make sense.

“Oh. Um…”

And the words combined with that look gave off a _really_ distinct sort of déjà vu. Foggy cringed. Cool. Great. Just reliving one of the more mortifying moments of his life. No biggie.

What if he’d gotten it backwards? Maybe one side of Matt actually _was_ more gay than the other – or at least more in love with Foggy – and it wasn’t Daredevil? What if there were no mushy romantic feelings at all on Daredevil’s part?

As usual when panicked, Foggy began to ramble.

“Unless that’s just a Matt thing, in which case I might need to excuse myself to go searching for a bucket of sand to bury my head in, but that’s fine. Totally fine. Really. It’s—”

“No,” Daredevil interrupted, shaking his head, “it’s— no, it’s not just a… I do, too. Have. Those feelings.”

It was probably pathetic how much relief spread through Foggy’s body at those stilted words.

“That’s. Great, awesome. Me too. I just… Just please remember that I didn’t know that last night, ok?” he implored, ducking his head even though it wasn’t like Daredevil could see him anyway. “I didn’t know it was a feelings thing. I mean, I never would have guessed in a million years that you were even attracted to me at all, so the romantic stuff really came out of left field. I don’t ever want you to think I was faking it, or using you, or… So, I’m sorry. I was kind of a dick, I should have realized...”

There was a long, damning silence for Foggy to consider how poorly he was managing this balancing act between Matt and Daredevil. They were the same man, even if they were incomprehensibly different parts of him on the surface. At their core, they were identical – Foggy had seen that for himself. Witty and overprotective with a strangely narcissistic low self-esteem. Complicated, angry men who just wanted to do right by the world. Matt Murdock.

“Yeah,” Daredevil agreed at last, clearing his throat. “Yeah you were a, you were kind of a dick.” A small, tentative smile flashed across his face. “But, you know, _I’m_ into dicks too.”

The joke startled a laugh out of Foggy, and he could see that for some reason the sound of it loosened tension all across Daredevil’s shoulders. He looked relieved, maybe even happy.

Except.

Except there was still something… It wasn’t the distance kept between them, Foggy sort of understood that. Daredevil was still adamant he didn’t want to be _Matt Murdock: Back Together_ anytime soon. If he still had his half of the Gemini Amulet on him – and Foggy desperately hoped he did – it would make sense to try and keep it, and therefore himself, out of Foggy’s reach.

But there was something else. Something…

“You’re making the face, aren’t you,” Foggy realized, and found himself oddly certain of it even with what little of Daredevil’s expression was visible being draped in ambient shadow. “The ‘everything is so much all the time’ face.”

“I don’t. I don’t know what you mean,” Daredevil insisted, poorly.

But Foggy was done with flimsy lies. So he said it right out.

“You’re having just as much trouble controlling the supersenses as Matt is with not having them to control.”

Immediately, Daredevil bristled. Puffed up like an angry cat.

“I’m _fine_!” he insisted in a growl.

But the more Daredevil spoke, the more he moved, the more certain Foggy got. The idiot was right in the middle of one of his sensory spikes, where his mind couldn’t sort the overwhelming flood of input his senses were giving him. Foggy had seen it happen several times, even before he’d known about Matt’s overactive senses, and once the truth about them came out so did the truth about Matt’s occasional fits of sensory overload. They could… Sometimes they got bad. Really bad.

Which meant, like Foggy had suspected, Daredevil was suffering the separation just as much as Matt was, but he was being obstinate anyway.

“You’re obviously not fine!” Foggy snapped right back, frustrated. “We both know that, so at least admit it!”

Daredevil shook his head.

“I’m not weak,” he insisted, and his tone was suddenly more hurt than angry.

Which— Only Matt Murdock could make, like, an actual _medical issue_ about weakness. Jesus. Foggy sighed loudly and pressed his hands to his face until he could get his words marshalled into something meaningful.

“No, of course not. You’ve never been weak, you’re the strongest person I know. But— Vulnerable, maybe. Hurting. And that’s fine! Everyone needs help sometimes, even you.”

“I… I don’t…”

“Let me help you,” Foggy pressed. “Please. I’m.” He shook his head, took a breath, and _why_ was it so _hard_ to... “You’re hurting, and I want to make it stop. Whatever you think, about… I know my motives probably seem suspect, after last night, but I care about you. That’s the truth. I just want to help.”

Daredevil swayed a half-step forward but seemed to catch himself at the last second and pulled back.

“Foggy. I, I know you do, of course you do,” he murmured indulgently. “And I know you think— I know you think putting the amulet back together will fix everything, but it won’t. It’s better, like this. Even with the— Even if I have trouble, with my senses, I’m still better this way. I’m not afraid, anymore, Foggy. I’m not afraid, so I won’t lie to you anymore. Isn’t that better, isn’t…?”

Foggy’s heart broke a little. He flexed his hands, wet his lips. There were words, the right words, somewhere. And wasn’t he supposed to be the one that was good on the fly? Wasn’t pulling an argument, pulling precedent, out of his ass supposed to be Foggy’s whole thing?

But the problem was in beginning. _Matt_ , he wanted to say. But every glance at that red helmet reminded him why he shouldn’t. Getting too comfortable addressing Matt as ‘Matt’ while he was in the Daredevil armor could only end disastrously. It was a bad precedent to set – one slip at the wrong moment and Matt’s entire life would be destroyed.

“Daredevil,” he said instead. “Buddy, I… There is _nothing wrong_ with being afraid. Sometimes… Sometimes caution and fear, sometimes we need those. I don’t care what bullshit Stick or anyone else fed you, you don’t have to throw away pieces of yourself just because you think it’ll make you better—”

Except then, fueled by the instinctive desire to comfort Matt when he was hurting, Foggy made the mistake of taking a step forward. And like a rabbit, Daredevil bolted. He was back over the rooftops before Foggy could finish his sentence.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed to the empty alley.

But though Foggy waited for twenty-five minutes, Daredevil did not return. There was no point standing around like an idiot for the rest of the morning, and at least he’d gotten his apology out. So, with a defeated sigh, Foggy made his way to the offices to join Matt and Karen.

* * *

“How,” Matt asked cautiously, standing pressed up next to Foggy in the kitchenette. “How did it go?”

“Could’ve been better,” admitted Foggy.

But when he rested his head on Matt’s shoulder, Matt leaned back towards him and slipped an arm around his waist. So the world couldn’t really be too horrible, even if Foggy had no idea how he was ever going to chase Daredevil down when he didn’t want to be found, let alone convince him to fuse back together with Matt.

It was the last day of their allotted three. Soon enough Stick would be all up in their grill again, acting like an asshole and probably ready to roundhouse kick his way to a solution.

But work was important too; their clients were important. So Foggy tamped down on his worry as best he could. Then he buckled down and put his whole conscious mind towards their cases; let his subconscious pick away at the problem of Daredevil, hoping that a solution would present itself.


	15. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final night, and Matt and Foggy try a different strategy to lure in Daredevil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I think... Two chapters left? Daredevil's PoV, then Foggy's. We'll see, but for the moment, that's the plan.

“What really happened?” Matt asked Foggy as they packed up for the day. “This morning?”

There was a long silence punctuated with shuffling papers, and for a moment Matt thought he wasn’t going to get an answer at all.

“I scared him off,” admitted Foggy finally as he guided Matt’s hand to his elbow. “I didn’t mean to, but… He was pretty wary, and I ended up spooking him. I, I don’t know, encroached on his bubble I guess. I managed to apologize to him before that, though, and I think… Or, well, I hope he understood.”

Matt squeezed Foggy’s arm lightly and they stepped out of the offices.

“I’m sure he did.”

Even without his enhanced senses to rely on, Matt could read a lie on Foggy from a mile away, and sincerity even farther than that. There was no way that Daredevil wouldn’t hear it in his voice, in his heartbeat.

“Thanks, Matt.”

And then Foggy leaned over and pressed a kiss to Matt’s cheek. Which was—great, wonderful actually, but not enough. So, using the leverage he already had on Foggy’s arm, Matt tugged him closer and locked their lips, placing his free hand at the pulse point in Foggy’s throat so he could feel the way his heart began to race.

“There. That’s better,” Matt said brightly when he broke the kiss, then proceeded to tow Foggy along as though nothing had happened.

After a few steps, Foggy finally got with the program and stumbled his way back into proper guiding position.

“You— you are… Oh my god, Matt, that was not _fair_.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Matt insisted in his very best innocent voice.

“I. Obviously, I object,” stammered Foggy in reply. “You are perjuring yourself, Mr. Murdock. You’re a liar and a cad.”

“I’m also not on the witness stand, Mr. Nelson. Unless you’ve seriously misled me as to our current location.”

“I never lie. Unlike _some_ people,” Foggy complained with absolutely no heat in his accusation whatsoever.

Hearing words like that, without a single ounce of bitterness, lightened a weight Matt hadn’t known he was still carrying. For a long time, Foggy had held onto the rightful hurt of having been lied to, about so many things. But he was joking about it without a single sharp edge to his tone. He was teasing Matt, bright and warm and happy next to him. Matt pressed closer to Foggy’s side and smiled.

* * *

When they made it back to Matt’s apartment, Foggy lingered by the door instead of coming fully inside, and Matt’s heart sank a little.

“Are you really going to go out again?” he asked hesitantly.

Foggy sighed.

“It’s the last night, Matt. And no matter how much of an uncooperative little shit he’s being about this whole thing, I… I don’t want Daredevil to have to face your creepy mentor alone.”

Matt frowned, rubbed his arm subtly as a chill went through him at the thought. The other Matt might have the physical capabilities to take on Stick in a fight, but not the mental or emotional ones. As much as he seemed to think the split made him tougher or better, it had also made him more volatile and more emotionally raw. And that was way more dangerous in a fight against someone like Stick.

“No,” he agreed at last, “I don’t either. But chasing him down… It’s not working. And if he wants to avoid us there’s nothing we can do, not when he can tell we’re coming way before we’d ever be able to locate him.”

“So maybe… Maybe we’ve been doing this wrong,” Foggy suggested.

Matt cocked his head to the side.

“You have a plan,” he realized.

“Ehhhh… I’m see-sawing my hand. It’s not so much a plan as… Let’s call it a Hail Mary?” said Foggy. “If we can’t chase him down, maybe we need to back off and ask him to come to us. Being pressured or cornered tends to elicit a notoriously bad response in you, Matt, and Daredevil’s… Probably not very happy with us.”

Which made a lot of sense, actually. He hated being forced into things, but a sincere plea from Foggy would probably do the trick. Even Matt got a little embarrassed sometimes about how much of a soft spot Foggy was for him – God only knew what Stick’s feelings on the matter would be, if he ever found out the real extent of Matt’s weakness for Foggy.

“Well,” he said at last, “we don’t have anything to lose.”

So they headed out to the roof together.

“Daredevil?” Foggy called. “Come on, buddy, we need to talk. All three of us. Just talk, I promise. We won't... No one's going to try and force you into anything. If you can hear me right now, just bring it in ASAP, ok?”

Matt half-expected to hear boots on the roof as soon as Foggy finished talking, but the night was quiet around them. Though Matt strained his ears for a few minutes, all he could hear was the rumble of cars on the street and a far-distant wail of sirens. Next to him, Foggy checked the time on his phone compulsively, muttering about slow clocks. For ten minutes, they stood on the rooftop. Matt took deep breaths of city air, focused on the feeling of the wind tousling his hair. After those ten minutes were up and there was still no sign of Daredevil, Matt and Foggy made their way back into the apartment to wait.

The two of them settled onto the couch to wait and spent the next half an hour idly.

“Maybe he didn’t hear me…” Foggy fretted at last.

Matt laughed softly.

“It’s you, Fog. He would’ve heard you from Jersey and come running. Just… Give him a minute. Maybe he’s in the middle of a fight.”

Though he put as much calming reassurance into his voice as possible, Matt couldn’t help the doubt curdling in his stomach. What would they do, if he didn’t show up? Worse still, what would Stick do?

As if he were summoned by the thought, Matt suddenly caught the familiar rhythm of Stick’s cane against the floor of the hallway – louder than usual, enough so that Matt could just barely catch it with his unenhanced hearing. Then three rattling knocks hit the front door of the apartment. Foggy moved to stand, to get the door, but Matt grabbed his wrist hurriedly to stop him.

“Matt, what—”

“It’s Stick,” he explained. “I… I’ll get the door, ok?”

The muscles of Foggy’s arm tensed under Matt’s hand, but then they relaxed, and he dropped back down onto the couch.

“Yeah, ok, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Standing himself, Matt released Foggy and made for the door. Before he could get more than a step or two from the couch, Foggy had grasped his hand instead – but not to hold him back. He just lifted Matt’s hand to his mouth and placed a feather-light kiss on Matt’s knuckles. Then he let go. Matt’s heart fluttered ridiculously in his chest and he knew Stick had heard it by the distinctly irritated rapping of his cane against the wood of the door.

Torn between annoyance of his own and the immature satisfaction of frustrating Stick, Matt shook his head and walked into the entryway of his apartment. He stood in front of the door about three extra seconds without opening it because while the other Matt might have gotten most of the impulsiveness, he didn’t have a monopoly on the pettiness.

Then he unlocked and opened it, stepped aside with a flourishing bow.

“Stop being such a shit,” Stick grumbled, and made a point to shove past Matt even though there was plenty of room in the entryway. “Do you have the amulet?”

“Technically, we have half of it,” Foggy called.

“So you’ve accomplished exactly fuck-all in the three days I gave you.”

“We’re waiting on Daredevil,” replied Matt sharply. “He’ll be here.”

“Please. I’m not about to wait up on the whims of an idiot in a dumbass costume. Time’s up, Matty,” Stick said. “I’ll go nab your bratty other half myself.”

And then the roof access door banged open.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Daredevil, striding down the stairs with heavy, thumping steps.


	16. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daredevil makes his position clear. Stick starts a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go! Whew!

Matt would give his other half that much at least, he moved quick to get between Stick and Foggy – not that he could do much of anything if Stick decided to get violent, which was why Matt took the stairs two at a time until he too was standing firmly between his old sensei and his—

No word seemed quite apt enough. His Foggy.

There was a soft shift of material as Foggy stood from the couch.

“You came,” he said quietly.

“You called.” And Matt knew it was probably tempting fate, but he stole Foggy forward and kissed him deeply anyway; there was no way Stick didn’t already suspect, and he just—needed it. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.”

The way every pulse in the room spiked at the endearment – attraction, anger, jealousy – was endlessly gratifying. Matt grinned.

“Good for you, dumbass,” Stick said before Foggy could formulate a response. “Now hand over the rest of the amulet.”

“No.”

“No?” repeated Stick, voice low and dangerous.

But not nearly dangerous enough to cow Matt. Especially not when his hands were occupied with lightly tracing the soft curves of Foggy’s sides. What did Stick’s anger or frustration mean in the face of that?

“Foggy asked me to come talk,” Matt pointed out. “So I’m here to talk. I’m sure as hell not here to surrender.”

Stick took one step forward, the movement sharp and angry.

“Now you listen to me, you little shit—”

“No,” Matt interrupted harshly, tugging Foggy further out of the way and moving to face Stick directly. “No. _He_ might have to stand there and listen to your bullshit—” Matt gestured angrily at his double. “But I don’t. What are you even trying to— You’re not my sensei anymore, and you’re sure as hell not a friend. You don’t get to keep shoving your way back into my life whenever it’s convenient to you and think I’ll just take it.”

“It ain’t about you, Matty, you narcissistic brat,” Stick spat back at him. “I’m only here for the amulet. You give back the damn thing and I’m gone, so don’t you put this on me. This whole situation is all your doing.”

Matt shrugged, rolled his shoulders.

“Well, that’s—that’s just too bad, isn’t it? You might as well leave, Stick, because I’m not giving it up.” He smirked wryly. “I’d think you of all people would approve of how this turned out. Spartans, baddest of the badasses, right?”

“Spartans? Please. Maybe you were a pussy before, but now you’re just an angry little kid having a damn temper tantrum all over the city. I’ve read the headlines. One of you got the fighting ability and the other one got the brain cells, which makes you both twice as useless as before.”

The words cut – they always cut – but Matt didn’t let it show. Not the way his double did, trembling with anger, teeth clenched so hard Matt could hear the creak of his jaw. Foggy must have noticed it too, because there was a soft slide of skin on fabric – soothing strokes up and down his doppelganger's back that were so familiar from college that Matt could almost feel them himself. Part of him ached to be comforted too, but Matt wasn’t about to show a weak spot like that in front of Stick. Not when he was the only one standing between him and them. He hung on to his anger instead of his hurt, let it ground him.

“My life’s worth isn’t about how useful I am to you,” Matt snarled.

“You’re not useful to anyone else, either, far as I can see,” said Stick with an ugly, derisive snort. “Completely off the goddamn rails. I didn’t teach you to fight like a wild animal, Matty. The mind controls the body. What the fuck is controlling you right now, since Mother Teresa over here got all the brains?”

There was a slight waft of air as Stick gestured dismissively at Matt’s doppelganger. Anger burned through him, but Matt reined it in with large, huffing breaths. Maybe he didn’t have his other half’s vaunted self-control, but Matt wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was being baited.

“ _I’m_ controlling me.”

There was a loud crack as Stick slammed the tip of his cane against the floor.

“You’re not controlling anything, and you know it,” Stick argued. “Keep going like this, all you’re gonna do is get your pansy boyfriend murdered, you dumb shit. You think you’re so tough right now? There’s two of you and I could kill him with one fucking hand.”

Matt’s world on fire blitzed white-hot, and he lunged. The first hit – a punch meant for Stick’s solar plexus that was redirected into his shoulder – sent a roar of bloodlust through him. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t _enough_. He wanted Stick on the ground. Wanted him _bleeding_ , for threatening Foggy. With heat and anger pulsing through every vein, Matt threw himself into the fight.

Kick, block, dodge, dodge again, punch, palm strike—

He took a foot to the gut, and although a ratty sneaker wasn’t enough to hurt him through Melvin’s armor, there was enough force behind the kick to send Matt flying into the coffee table. It cracked under him and he crashed to the floor amid its shattered remains. Matt _really_ wanted to know what the hell Stick had against his coffee tables because frankly it was getting ridiculous.

Still, he didn’t have time for idle thoughts like that. Their position had moved them both so that Foggy was in Stick’s range with no one to protect him but the other Matt, who was probably too deafened to so much as hear a punch coming. And that was unacceptable.

Matt threw himself forward into a crouch, was just about to sweep out his leg to try and trip Stick when—

“ _Enough_!”

The whole apartment went still, three sets of unseeing eyes trained in the direction of Foggy’s shout.


	17. Together At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy Nelson saves the day, as usual, and gets his happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is complete! Now I just have to figure out which of my other three MattFoggy AUs I should focus on while I continue to flounder with the next chapter of TYLB...

In the silence, Foggy took three or four steadying breaths as he catalogued the men around him. Matt was the closest, still tense, the fingers of his right hand flexing slightly, absently. Then there was Daredevil at Foggy’s other side, half-crouched like some sort of feral animal. And finally Stick, who would have seemed perfectly at ease except for the fact that Foggy had ten years of learning the particular way that strain settled in an angry ninja’s shoulders from watching Matt. Yeah, Stick was pissed.

But he’d also stopped, and that wasn’t an opportunity that Foggy was going to waste.

“Cool. Great. So, first off,” Foggy said brightly, clapping his hands, “threaten me again and I’ll call the cops. And I’m really certain that you and your zany-ass ninja cult don’t want any part of that.”

Stick rolled his shoulders – the way Matt did when angry, that was so _freaking creepy_ , Jesus – and cracked his neck.

“You—”

“No!” interrupted Foggy, putting up a hand that no one else in the room could see. “Not your turn to talk! Potentially _never_ your turn to talk because you never have anything nice or productive to say! Now. Second: it’s either fuck off and shut up or get your ass kicked out of this apartment, because guess what, grandpa? Only _one_ of the crazy-ass ninjas in this room has body armor and it’s not you!”

Slowly, Daredevil stood, inching his way further between Stick and Foggy – which Foggy appreciated, really, he did. But it also redirected his attention, and therefore his— ire? His righteous fury? Something like that anyway.

“Foggy,” Daredevil said, a soft warning.

“And _you_ ,” replied Foggy, poking his vigilante in the side with a finger. “There’s no call to leap at people like a rabid squirrel. We can have a rational discussion about this. You’re a grown-ass man. Violence is not the answer. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“Foggy—” Daredevil tried again, only to be interrupted by Stick.

“You think this stubborn little shit is going to listen to anything you have to say?” the old man asked, unimpressed. “He’s never learned a thing in his life without being smacked around.”

A shiver plunged down Foggy’s spine – a wash of ice cold and then of burning heat because that. That was. In his mind’s eye, Foggy was seeing Matt the day he stepped into Room 312, sweet and young and skinny, still just a kid, and then reeling back further; imagining how small he must have been at nine, ten, eleven. Imagining the cane in Stick’s hand cracking against a tiny ribcage, a paper-thin wrist.

“He’s here. We’re handling it. So unless you want to pay to replace all this furniture, sit in the corner and shut your freaking mouth,” Foggy snapped, barely able to breathe for his fury. “Maybe you’ll even learn something about solving your problems without violence.”

Foggy’s heart was racing – fear, anger, anticipation – and he tried really hard not to think about what it was telling everyone else in the room. But instead of darting around Daredevil and using his cane to crack Foggy’s skull open like a watermelon, Stick tapped his way over to the fridge and snagged one of Matt’s snooty craft beers. Then he settled at the counter to wait, leaning back on his bony elbows.

“Like a yapping corgi,” he sneered, cracking open the beer and taking a swig. “Well, go on then, genius. Show me how it’s done.”

“I will.” Foggy turned back towards Daredevil, tugging the vigilante so they faced one another, though he kept both Stick and Matt in his peripherals. “Look. I… I know you don’t want to go back, even if I don’t get why. But… This isn’t sustainable, man, you can’t stay Daredevil forever. Where have you even been sleeping for the past three nights? Dumpsters? Rooftops?”

Daredevil shrugged.

“Something like that.”

“Ok, seriously though,” Foggy said. “Now that I think about it I’m actually concerned. Where have you been staying?”

“His daddy’s old gym,” Stick answered blandly, taking another pull of beer. “Can smell it all over him even from here.”

“Fogwell’s,” Daredevil agreed with a sharp nod of the head.

Which was better than a dumpster at least, not that _that_ was a metric for good sleeping conditions that any sane person would ever use.

“And you’ve been eating enough?”

Something about the question sent a ghost of a smile across Daredevil’s face. He nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve been eating enough,” promised Daredevil.

And yeah, it wasn’t unthinkable that Daredevil, being a part of Matt, might lie about that. But while not mentioning things was one of Matt’s skills, direct lies were not. He was a mess of tells, all of which Foggy knew by heart. So he felt pretty confident that Daredevil at least hadn’t been starving.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s have our talk. We can work through this, I know we can,” Foggy said, grabbing one of Daredevil’s gloved hands and squeezing it in his own.

“Can we?” wondered Daredevil, squeezing back gently. “You don’t listen well when you feel strongly about something, Fog.”

“Ok,” Foggy agreed. “That’s fair. Then let’s not have an argument, let’s have a trial. I’ll cede the floor to the prosecution; give me the facts as you see them, counselor. Argue it out for us.”

Seeing Daredevil take Matt’s usual courtroom posture was bizarre, but somehow pleasant. With one last squeeze, Foggy released his hand and moved aside. If he was ceding the floor figuratively, might as well do it literally too, he figured. So Foggy moved over to where Matt was standing and fiddling absently with his sleeve. Then he brushed the back of his hand against one of Matt’s, and Matt latched onto his arm immediately. Then the two of them made their way around the wreckage of the coffee table and settled on the couch to listen to what Daredevil had to say.

With three long strides and a deep breath, he began.

“I know you— I know you think the costs of this split outweigh the benefit, but they don’t. Even if I have less control, even if my senses are giving me difficulty, this is the best option. I’ve spent, God, just, _so much time_ paralyzed by fear, and I don’t feel any of that anymore. I’m not slowed down by the kind of pointless, self-indulgent guilt that had me spinning my wheels for so long. Even if I have more trouble navigating physically, it’s worth it to me.”

Although his instinctive reaction was to argue, Foggy held the words back. Daredevil had been right that Foggy had trouble listening when he’d already made up his mind about something. And Foggy owed it to him to try and understand, to dig deep and actually work through whatever this was instead of trying to gloss over it. Instead, he calmed himself, tried to treat it like a trial – he needed to understand the other side’s arguments first, needed to know what was really being argued instead of just throwing himself head-first into a fight.

“Can you give me an example?” he asked quietly. “Something concrete, a situation.”

“If I hadn’t been split from him,” said Daredevil with a slight jerk of his chin to gesture at Matt, “I would never have had the courage to tell you how I feel about you.”

Beside Foggy, Matt flinched. As usual, it tugged painfully at Foggy’s heartstrings, and his mouth was moving before it had permission, trying to smooth over the hurt with a joke.

“Ok, technically,” he retorted, and couldn’t keep the note of exasperated fondness out of his voice, “you didn’t tell me anything, you just kind of—lunged.”

“But I made a move,” countered Daredevil. “ _He_ would never have done that. He’d have kept it hidden forever.”

It was probably true. But that wasn’t… Foggy didn’t blame Matt for that, any part of him. So he’d been afraid – afraid to ruin their friendship. So what? Foggy had been too. It wasn’t something worthy of derision or judgment, it was just the way things had been.

“Eventually, things would have worked out,” Foggy told Daredevil steadily.

“Please. They wouldn’t have. And aren’t we _both_ better off without him? He’s just lies,” Daredevil said with a vicious smile. “That’s all he is. All those pieces that hid things from you out of fear, the parts of me that were the reason you left, after you found out I was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. But I tell you the truth, Foggy, don’t I? I am the truth. I don’t hide what I am or what I want.”

Matt didn’t protest, he just hunched his shoulders, drew his knees to his chest and curled tighter into himself. Watching him was like a knife to the heart.

“You… You’re joking, right?” Foggy asked, and found his tone suddenly more derisive than was probably wise. “First of all, I wasn’t just upset about the lying – you almost died in my arms, of course I was upset, of course I freaked out! I left because I needed to cool off, because I couldn’t handle sitting there and looking at—” Foggy cut himself off, pressed his hands to his face and took a few shuddering breaths until he stopped feeling the phantom itch of Matt’s blood drying on his skin. “I. I _was_ hurt, that you lied, I’ll admit that. But you two are the same person. Matt Murdock and Daredevil, it’s not like one is a mask the other one wears, not really. It’s not that Matt lied and Daredevil told the truth. Both of you lied, and I caught you. And then both of you told the truth. Just because Matt doesn’t spend all his time parkouring off of freaking rooftops in a suit and tie doesn’t mean he’s lying. And even when he _does_ lie, that doesn’t make _him_ a lie. The Matt I knew in college is still in there, still real. I… I know that now, better than anyone.”

Cautiously, oh so cautiously, Matt lifted his head from his knees, though he continued to hug his legs like a scared kid. Foggy sighed. The sight of Matt that vulnerable swamped him with a wave of love so huge it was almost painful in its intensity.

“Foggy…”

And like an on-off switch, the second Matt started blossoming, Daredevil shut down. A low, angry noise spilled past his lips, and the expression on what little of his face Foggy could see was marred with intense and focused hatred.

“Stop defending him! That—fear, cowardice, it’s _who he is_ ,” Daredevil insisted. “He’s afraid. He’ll always fall back on lying to you.”

The words were harsh, but as a self-assessment the last few were probably true enough. Matt’s fallback when he encountered situations that scared him _was_ to lie. To try and keep everyone else out of danger by pretending the danger didn’t exist at all.

But it was also a habit he was learning to break.

“The compulsive lying thing is… A work in progress,” admitted Foggy. “I know that. But the important stuff at least – Elektra, all the bullshit with the ninjas – I had a heads up on. Even when I disagreed with your decisions, at least I was in the loop. At least we could work on a solution together when the shit hit the fan. I trust you to tell me stuff like that now, no matter how unnatural it is for you. I worry less.”

Both Matt and Daredevil looked a little lost at that pronouncement, a little baffled.

“You do…?”

From the expressions on their faces, it could have come from either one of them, but it was Matt who had spoken.

“I really, really do, Matt,” said Foggy. “A lot. Right, Daredevil? What’s your polygraph saying?”

“Truth,” he rasped, nodding. “It’s. You’re telling the truth.”

Foggy smiled.

“Like I tried to tell you before, you don’t have to cut off pieces of yourself to try and be a better man. You were already good enough as you were. This split isn’t making anyone better or happier or healthier, and I think deep down you know that.”

For a moment, Foggy thought maybe… Just maybe… Because there seemed to be a softening of Daredevil’s posture. An acceptance. But then Daredevil shook his head, straightening up again, going back on guard.

“You’re doing this for _him_ , for _his_ sake, you keep— You keep playing favorites,” he accused, and it cut Foggy to the quick.

That there could be a part of Matt, any part of Matt, that thought Foggy was… What, that he was only in love with half of his best friend? That his worry or his feelings were conditional? Foggy scrubbed harshly at his face, trying to ward off the flood of frustrated tears building behind his eyes.

“I’m not playing favorites! I want you to go back to being one person because you’re in pain and I hate it! This is the only way I can help you. _Both_ of you. You’re both Matt, that’s the whole point!” insisted Foggy, his voice breaking pathetically.

“Prove it,” Daredevil demanded, his voice as trembling and angry as the rest of his body. “Because it doesn’t seem like you really think that! You asked— you asked if it was a _Matt thing_ , if my feelings for you were _just a Matt thing_. But I _am_ Matt! I’m just as much Matt as he is! So prove it! Call me Matt and mean it the way you do when you say it to him.”

There was a time that might have been a tall order. But Foggy was used to not seeing those eyes, was used to extrapolating Matt Murdock from a mouth and two clenched fists even before Daredevil. He could see the fear, hope, resignation hidden beneath the anger just as easily as he could now see the man beneath the contours of the suit. He could see, suddenly, so easily, the hurt he’d caused without even meaning to. Foggy stood, made his way over to the part of the love of his life that, from the clench of his jaw, was trying desperately not to cry. Gently, careful to avoid any bruises, Foggy cupped Daredevil’s face in his hands.

“Oh, Matt. It’s ok,” he soothed, leaned up to press a kiss to the brow of the helmet. “I understand now. I get it. I’m sorry if I made you feel like— Like I was shutting you out of your own identity, or… God, I’m sorry. You’re right. You are Matt. You’re my Matt. And maybe there was a time I didn’t know that, but that doesn’t make it any less true. It’s ok, you don’t need to… You can let go. You don’t ever have to be anything other than what you are.”

There was a soft sob.

“Foggy…”

“You don’t have to be scared. If you do this, if you go back, everything’s gonna be fine, Matt,” Foggy promised fervently, stepping back. “I love you, ok? All of you. This part too. I know what I’m getting into. And I will never, ever leave you. You’re my best friend, Matt, how could I? We’re like—peanut butter and jelly, buddy; it’s always better when it’s me and you.”

That, of course, prompted a disgusted snort form the peanut gallery.

“Would you get on with it already?” Stick demanded.

Both Matts bared their teeth, but before they could start a three-way fistfight with their former mentor, Foggy interrupted loudly.

“ _Hey_. Ignore him, ok? Just ignore him. He’s only being a douche to rile you up.”

Slowly, Daredevil – Matt – held out his half of the amulet.

“Here. Just—just take it.”

Tugging the other half from the pocket of his pants, Not-Daredevil-Matt lifted it in the air. Then his doppelganger with the supersenses clicked the pendants together.

There was a sudden wave of energy that sent all the hairs on the back of Foggy’s arms standing on end. And then, instead of two Matts, there was one, holding a single necklace. He looked completely ridiculous, too – in his regular office clothes, but wearing the Daredevil helmet, gloves, and boots. A fashion disaster truly worthy of the world’s dorkiest blind superhero.

Slowly, he shucked the gloves and tugged off the helmet.

“So…?” Foggy asked. “Did it work? How much do you remember?”

“All of it,” Matt breathed, nodding and wetting his lips. “All of it.”

“And your senses?” demanded Foggy.

“It’s— They’re good, Fog. It’s perfect, I can hear— God, your heartbeat is so…”

The sheer awe in Matt’s voice sent a bright shiver down Foggy’s spine. He was about sixty-five percent sure he was going to lose control of what dignity he had and throw himself into Matt’s arms at any moment.

Which, of course, meant that Stick had to interrupt with a loud, pointed clearing of the throat.

And then Matt – perfect, whole, angry, wonderful Matt Murdock, the way he was always supposed to be – chucked the stupid amulet at Stick’s head. The old bastard caught it with his ninja reflexes, yeah, but it was the thought that counted.

“Now,” Matt said, halfway to a Daredevil growl, “get out of my city.”

Stick just scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’ll leave you to mack on your prissy boyfriend in peace, Matty. For fuck’s sake.”

And before Matt could get another word in edgewise, Stick was tapping his way out the door – although he made sure to smack Foggy particularly hard in the ankle with his cane as he left. He also didn’t bother to take his empty beer bottle with him. Dick.

“Well,” Foggy said, loudly and brightly as the apartment door slammed shut. “I think we should take him up on it, don’t you?”

Matt’s dark, fierce expression melted into a smile that then parted for a peal of brilliant laughter. ‘The sun peeking through the clouds’ was a pathetically cliché turn of phrase, but honestly Foggy couldn’t think of anything more apt.

“I love you,” Matt breathed like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying it, taking Foggy’s face carefully in his callused hands.

Foggy grinned.

“Right back atcha.”

Then he wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist, tugged him closer, and kissed the hell out of him.


End file.
